


By My Life

by casthewise (quillquiver)



Category: Supernatural, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Crossover, Fandom Fusion, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Growing Up Together, M/M, Masturbation, Nothing untoward goes on until each party is of a legal age, Oral Sex, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Switching, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-03-03 23:19:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 135,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2891837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quillquiver/pseuds/casthewise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel may only be in his eighty-seventh year, but he knows that is no way to care for a child. He observes the two humans with their lack of pointed ears and short, cropped hair. They are disgusting and filthy; everything his tutor, Naomi, has insofar taught him, and everything his cousin Uriel has confirmed.</p><p>  <i>LOTR!AU wherein Cas is an elf of Rivendell and Dean and Sam are humans; orphans taken in by Michael and his elves after the battle of the five armies.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is very very loosely based off of riseofthefallone's TRaK. Go read it if you haven't... it's amazing!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we begin.

The first time Castiel sees them, they are covered, head to toe, in soot. The first is only a handful of years younger than himself, with short hair like charred straw and streaked with black; his cheeks appear to be smeared with charcoal, though freckles peek out from behind the filth on the bridge of his nose. His green eyes are filled to the brim with tears.

He holds the other. A baby; an infant not a day older than his new cousin Samandriel, but twice as loud as he shrieks and cries in the first boy’s arms. He’s swaddled in smelly, sooty blankets that give off the aroma of fire and death and sick.

Castiel may only be in his eighty-seventh year, but he knows that is no way to care for a child. He observes the two humans with their lack of pointed ears and short, cropped hair. They are disgusting and filthy; everything his tutor, Naomi, has insofar taught him, and everything his cousin Uriel has confirmed.

“Castiel? Come here, please.”

Albeit rather hesitantly, the blue-eyed elf shuffles forward, gaze trained on the elven Lord—and consequently his eldest remaining brother—rather than the humans themselves. “Yes, Michael?”

Michael waits, his torn and charred green robes fanning out against the marble floor as he lays a hand on the elfling’s shoulder and nudges the human boy closer. His circlet glints in the pink dawn light, armour scorched and splotched with red. Castiel knows he’s been away fighting a war, but seeing his brother covered in filth and blood makes his stomach roil and his vision turn blurry. He keeps rigid, however; he keeps strong. He’s a Little Lord, after all. He must save his tears for when they truly matter.

Despite this weakness, Michael remains the kind and caring guardian he always has been, smiling and pulling Castiel close as he speaks to both children. “Castiel, this is Dean Winchester and his brother, Sam,” he introduces. “They’ll be staying with us for no small amount of time.” Leaning closer to Castiel then, Michael whispers: “They’ve lost their  _adar_  and  _naneth_ , just as we have.”

At this, the elfling immediately looks to the crying human; looks at the tear tracks staining his cheeks and the snot leaking out of his nose. The baby has quieted with his brother’s rocking motion, and suddenly, they don’t seem so… dirty, anymore. They don’t seem so primitive and uncultured and stupid and everything else he’s been taught and told.

They’ve lost their parents, just as he has. And they’re sad for it, just as he is.

They are, all three of them, the same.

Stepping forward, Castiel bends to wrap his lanky arms around the two humans, puberty causing him to shuffle and stumble ungracefully as he does. He’s incredibly young by elvish standards; a child—adolescent at best—in the middle of that awkward growing period that lasts for fifty long and uncomfortable years. “Dean and Sam Winchester,” Castiel repeats as he pulls away, English accented oddly due to his mother tongue. His blue robe swishes as he moves to kneel, and reaches forward to wipe Dean’s cheeks tenderly. “ _Imlad_ ,” he murmurs, nodding to the boy before looking at his fitfully sleeping infant brother. “ _Esseru_. I am…” Castiel searches for the words. “…Sorry for your loss. Welcome to Rivendell.”

Dean sniffles and hugs Sam closer, green eyes wide as he looks at the elfling. Hesitantly, he rearranges the bundle in his arms and reaches out a hand, touching the soft material of Castiel’s doublet before pulling away quickly. When the elf doesn’t move, Dean’s palm returns more confidently, this time to pet the long waves of Castiel’s dark brown hair. A tentative grin blossoms across his face.

From his standing position, Michael smiles. “You’ll watch over them,” he tells his brother. “You’re old enough, and I believe it will be good for you.  _Esseru_ will be given to Anna and the women for nursing and mothering, but  _Imlad_ will primarily come under your care.”

Castiel nods but doesn’t look away from Dean, his own lips quirking into a smile when the boy steps closer. “By my life it shall be done,  _hanar_ ,” he replies quietly. Castiel completely misses the fond look his brother sends him before vacating the premises, dark hair fanning out behind him as he leaves all three alone. Castiel isn’t paying attention. He’s preoccupied with the way Dean’s little fingers curiously touch his clothes and skin, marring his flawless appearance with soot. When the boy’s leaking nose gets to be too much, Castiel sacrifices his sleeve to wipe him clean, the trio sitting on slowly warming marble as the sun rises. Soon, however,  _Esseru_ — _Sam_ , begins to cry again and Dean retreats back into himself. Castiel stands. “I’ll watch over you, Winchesters, “ he vows, nodding to dispel his blush at the oddly intimate moment he shared with the two strangers. “By my life.”

_By my life._


	2. He Speaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary at the end, but hover for the translation directly within the text! My Sindarin is rough and broken at best, so if you see anything wrong with it, please let me know!

Dean Winchester does not speak.

It’s worrisome to everyone, but especially for the child’s guardian. Human young are, after all, much more fragile than elven children, and the way Dean’s lips stay sealed makes Castiel fear for the boy’s psyche.

He hasn’t uttered a word in two months.

Well, perhaps that’s an exaggeration. Dean has spoken only to his brother, whom he keeps in his sights at all times. The entirety of Rivendell quickly learns that Dean’s devotion to his younger sibling is not only unparalleled, but non-negotiable: he has to be with Sam always, and always in some of contact with him. If not, he cries. Silent tears; disturbing and sad and wrong, especially when contrasted with the boisterousness and jollity of elven young, but that is the unsettling reality:

Dean Winchester possesses the body of a child but the presence of a world-weary man; his soul has been forced to grow so quickly it’s splintered.

And Castiel, understanding this, acts accordingly.

He lets Dean hold Sam while the women feed and change the baby. While Castiel himself bathes and clothes the infant, Dean is there. Throughout every single ordeal—because it truly is an ordeal to take care of two human children—the elder Winchester cradles his brother in his arms.

And the only time he ever speaks is when Sam is hysterical.

It’s happened once to date, when the child was so beyond consoling that Dean had whispered and sung to him for hours. It was heartbreaking to watch; green eyes shining with tears as Dean had rocked them both in the far corner of the room, speaking in a sobbed speech so slurred and low with grief that even Castiel, with his superior hearing, could not understand. He’d watched Dean clumsily stroke and pet the creature in his arms until his heart could no longer take the agony, and out of respect, had retreated into his adjoined room.

When he could no longer hear crying from either party, Castiel ventured into the war zone. He’d found Dean and Sam clutching to each other in the corner, fast asleep. It was at that point that the elfling had carefully transferred both humans to their shared bed.

Retreating back to his own chambers, Castiel had, for the first time, understood why Michael had chosen him for this task. He alone remembers what loosing his own parents was like at such a young age, and cannot imagine having to care for a sibling in a strange land in addition to that. Michael, at least, had had the entire support of Rivendell when  _Adar_  and  _Naneth_  did not return. Dean has nothing but an adolescent elf and his own self. Of course he trusts no one.

This is what Castiel is currently attempting to explain to Uriel.

“ _Ú_ _-belig saeda sen… sen_ microbe  _naedhellen, Castiel_!” the other elf spits as Castiel tends to his charges, wiping at their faces with a damp cloth. As per usual, the colourful stones in front of Dean—meant for playing—go untouched. Green eyes stare unflinchingly into blue.

“He is grieving,” Castiel says softly, graceful fingers carefully dabbing at the tip of Dean’s nose.

“ _Ho na_ ** _úbed_** ,” Uriel hisses in response. In an act unparalleled, the elder elf sinks to his knees and forcefully turns his junior’s chin. “You forsake the native tongue for the speech of savages,” he says, words heavily accented. “You forsake the  _edhellen_ —your  _people_  for this…  _ape_.”

But Castiel simply turns back. He gives a frightened-looking Dean an encouraging smile before continuing his work, speaking softly as he does. “ _Imlad_  will be more comfortable speaking in the language of _his_  people,” the elfling explains calmly. “And I shall do what is necessary to ensure that he grows as well as he can. This involves speech, Uriel.  _Cen istan sen_. ”

At this, Uriel scoffs and draws himself to his full height, shaking his head in disappointment before leaving the room. Both boys have long since been clean and Castiel finally lets the wet cloth drop to the floor with a sigh. “Do not listen to him, Dean,” he says. “You are no ape, nor are you a microbe. You are a human child, and you are just as wonderful as every young elf here. Of this I can assure you completely.”

As per usual, Dean says nothing. Castiel smiles. “Well, I suppose the time has come for you to retire. Come,  _mîl hûn_. ”

Thankfully, the nightly routine goes off without a hitch. As Sam is already fast asleep, it’s only Dean who requires coaxing onto the mattress, though he protests much more than usual. The elfling discovers why moments later, after he’s blown out the bedside candle and smoothed back his charge’s hair. It’s the only superfluous physical contact Dean allows, and Castiel makes sure do it as often as he can. “Goodnight,  _Imlad_ ,” he whispers. “Sweet sleep.”

“’Night Cas-Cassi-Casti—”

Castiel’s eyes widen at the high-pitched butchering of his name, face breaking into an encouraging smile as Dean blushes and tenses under the attention. “Cas,” Castiel murmurs, leaning down to audaciously nuzzle their noses together. “For you, I am Cas.”

Dean’s giggle of response is the most glorious surprise.

From then on, Dean sticks to Castiel’s side like a dragon to its hoard. Literally overnight, the four year-old widens his circle of accepted individuals from one to two, and as a result is sure to keep Cas in view at all times. He still doesn’t speak much, but communicates by pointing and tugging on Castiel’s robe and tunic, and saying his name in various different ways and tones.

Dean also lets him hold Sam.

Though the child is always close when it happens, Castiel understands the act of trust for what it is, and is especially careful with the tiny creature. Though it takes  _Esseru_  time to get used to being without Dean, he soon becomes accustomed.

Castiel is with the infant currently, walking through  _Imladris_  with Sam cradled in his arms as he makes his way to Michael’s receiving room. It had taken a lot of effort, but after wowing Dean with the colour of Anna’s hair, he’d managed to convince the other boy to stay for a bath during this audience.

“NO! NONONO! CAS! CAS!”

Dean’s voice travels halfway across Rivendell, the desperation and panic in his voice enough to set Castiel’s teeth on edge. Carefully, the elfling tucks Sam closer to his chest and begins to run back in the direction he came. He barely reaches his chambers before a half-dressed toddler shoots out of the bathroom and crowds at his legs, sobbing and clutching and burying himself into his guardian’s body. “Cas,” he whimpers. “Cas.”

Bending down, the elfling gathers Dean in with his free arm, holding him tightly to his chest. “What happened?”

Anna gives them both an exasperated look, dripping on the floor as her arms cross over her chest. For all intents and purposes,  _she_ appears to have bathed. “What does it look like,  _honeg_?” she asks, holding out her arms. Despite Anael’s obvious frustration, Castiel appreciates her speaking English. “He would not allow me to touch him.”

“Dean,” Castiel asks gently. “Is this true?”

“Cas helps,” the boy replies fiercely. “ _Not her_.”

Anna raises a brow. “ _Im awartho_ ,” she says, clearly offended. “I have done much and more for you and your  _hanar_ ,  _Imlad_. If you will not see that I only wish to help, then I have no other way of communicating my intentions.” With that, the red-haired elf turns on her heel and begins to leave.

“Anael,” Castiel calls. “ _Dartha, an ngell nîn_.”

She stops.

“ _Gohen asson_ ,” he continues. “ _Imlad_ is… trying.” Cas looks at Dean, pointedly. “Correct?”

“Correct,” Dean replies, shy as he clutches tightly to his guardian. “Sorry.”

Anna sighs. “It is… alright,” she says kindly, moving back to kneel next to them. “But know this,  _Imlad_ : like… Cas, I will never intentionally bring you harm.”

Peeking up from Castiel’s chest, Dean nods, thoroughly chastened. “’Kay.”

When Castiel helps Dean with his bath, he puts Sam and his carrier basket on the marble countertop to have both hands free. The infant watches them with curious hazel eyes as bubbles begin to fill the tub, the soap and water lavender-scented. Dean makes himself a bubble hat and beard and plays fish while Castiel attempts to wash him. By the time they’re finished, Castiel looks as if he’s bathed as well.

Not that it necessarily matters; the elf has long since begun to shed his outer layers and help the Winchesters bathe in only his white underclothes.

“Cas? How d’you say sorry in your language?”

Currently, Castiel is towelling Dean’s little body dry, grimacing every so often as the boy touches and tugs at his long, soft hair. The longest sentence he’s spoken since arriving in Rivendell, Dean keeps his eyes down, twirling Castiel’s braid between his fingers nervously as he awaits an answer.

“We speak Sindarin,” Cas explains easily, continuing his task as if nothing is out of the ordinary; as if they talk all the time. “But there is no direct translation for that word. Instead you say: ‘forgive me’. Which, in Sindarin is ‘ _goheno nin_ ’.”

Dean looks completely lost. Embarrassed, too, though the fact that he does not understand is not his fault. Elvish young grow more slowly, but their minds reach maturity quick. When Castiel had been of a height with his human charge, he’d already learnt Sindarin, Quenya, and several forms of healing magicks.

He had also been in his twenty-first year.

Bringing a nude Dean close, Cas points to his own mouth. “Look and listen,” he says. “For sorry, we say: ‘ _goheno nin_ ’.”

Dean frowns in concentration. “ _Goheeno nim_.”

“Not quite. Again: ‘ _goheno nin_ ’.”

“ _Gohin nin_.”

“ ** _Go_** _heno **nin**_.”

“ _Goheno nin_.”

Castiel nods proudly. “Exactly,  _mîl hûn_. Exactly right.” He slides Dean’s sleep robe over his head and puts his arms through the appropriate holes.

With a last towelling off of Dean’s hair, the drying process is complete, and Cas helps the boy wash his teeth and brush the wet mop atop his head before bedtime. By the time Sam is in the new cradle kept right beside Dean’s mattress, the child in question is cuddling under his covers with a sigh. “Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“You’re gonna watch out for me n’Sammy, right?” The question is punctuated by an adorable yawn, and Castiel’s smile greatly reduces the solemnity of his nod. Dean, however, does not return the expression. “That’s good,” he says. “But… who’s gonna look out for you?”

Cas’s smile softens. “Michael,” he replies gently, running a hand through Dean’s light hair. “Anael. Uriel. Gabriel. All of my kind will protect us both.”

“And me,” Dean pipes up. “I’m gonna protect you, too. I’m gonna save you from all the monsters and the dragons and all the bad guys!” He becomes more incensed the longer he talks. “’Cause when I’m big, I’m gonna be a ranger just like my daddy, so you don’t have to worry, Cas. Promise.”

“Your heart is too big for your own good, Dean Winchester,” Castiel says affectionately. “I have no doubt you will one day save us all.” Leaning down, the elfling presses a soft kiss to Dean’s forehead, smoothing back his hair. “Sleep now.”

“’Kay,” Dean whispers, wrapping his arms around Cas as best he can. He puts his lips to Castiel’s chin in a kiss so sloppy and childish, the elfling’s heart all but bursts. “Night, Cas.”

“ _Ollo vae_ ,  _mîl hûn_.”

The next morning, when Dean sees Anael, he strays away from Castiel for the first time to tug at her robes. It’s rude to interrupt conversation, but Remiel looks more curious at the intrusion than offended. Anna smiles. “Good morning,  _Imlad_. How do you fare, today?”

“Good.” Dean rocks back on his heels and shrugs bashfully. “ _Goheno nin_ , Annalel.”

Anna smiles, completely charmed, but before she can reply Dean has run back to his guardian and is pulling him towards the gardens. “C’mon Cas, I wanna show you n’Sammy something!”

Throwing a grin over to his shoulder, and with Sam balanced on his hip, Castiel lets himself be led.

 

 

**Glossary**

1.  _Ú-belig saeda sen… sen_ microbe  _naedhellen, Castiel_ : You cannot teach this… this microbe to be an elf (civilized), Castiel!  
2.  _Ho na_ ** _úbed:_**  He does not  **speak**.  
3.  _Cen istan sen_ : You know this.  
4.  _Mîl hûn_ : Kind heart  
5.  _Imlad_ : Dean  
6.  _Esseru_ : Sam  
7.  _Imladris_ : Rivendell  
8.  _Honeg_ : little brother  
9.  _Im awartho_ : I abandon --> I give up  
10.  _Dartha, an ngell nîn_ : Wait, for my joy --> wait, please  
11.  _Gohen asson_ : forgive him  
12.  _Goheno nin_ : forgive me  
13.  _Ollo vae_ ,  _mîl hûn_ : Sweet dreams, Kind Heart. 


	3. But Why?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a serious conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, hover on anything not explained within the text and that isn't 'Dean' or 'Sam' in Sindarin!

“Deanie beanie Deanie beanie…”

Sam Winchester splashes around in the scented bath, giggling to himself as he sprays water everywhere. Loud and joyful and cute as a button, the youngest Winchester babbles constantly; talking about everything and nothing and tugging on Castiel hair whenever he gets the chance.

“Hold still, Sammy!”

In response to his brother’s command, Sam giggles again and only sways marginally, big hazel eyes focussed in awe on Dean. Dean, who has made himself his customary bubble hat, and is spiking up his counterpart's shampooed hair. His little pink tongue pokes out in concentration, brows and freckled nose scrunching as he gently pats down parts of Sam’s hair and sculpts others into points. Castiel looks on, amused.

And then Sam sways too far.

With wide eyes, the two year-old disappears below water, Dean panicking and reaching in at the same time Cas easily lifts the toddler.  _Esseru_  is coughing and spluttering when he emerges, sticking out his tongue and making a face. He only barely cries as Dean gathers him in his arms, sniffling a few times before becoming pre-occupied with his brother’s braid. At six, Dean’s hair is long enough for something small and simple, and it keeps it away from his face. 

“You’re okay, Sammy, I got you—hey! Ow, stop it!”

It will never cease to amaze Castiel that Sam Winchester can almost drown in a tub and not shed a tear, but as soon as his brother is stern with him he becomes a blubbering mess. This is one such occasion, and the elfling can see the tears coming seconds before they happen. Sam wails and buries his face into Dean’s neck, the other rubbing his back as he looks down, guilty. “Sorry, Sammy, I didn’t mean to yell.”

With another sniffle, Sam reaches a hand out. Castiel scoots forward so the child can hold his sleeve. He smiles when Dean curls his fingers around his larger hand, giving both children a moment before he takes a smooth wooden bowl and begins to rinse them off. He knows that Sam enjoys this in particular and so begins with him; pouring water on his back before steadily working up to his neck.  _Esseru_ turns his head against Dean’s shoulder and sticks his thumb in his mouth, sighing as the elder traces soothing patterns over his soft skin. He’ll drift off like this in no time, Cas knows, so the elfling carefully separates the two, coaxing Sam to stand before rinsing him thoroughly and seating him on the nearby wooden bench. He busies himself with the toys in the corner there as Castiel turns back to the bath.

Dean is smiling.

This in itself is not odd; Dean has been smiling more and more as of late, but the way he shyly hide his face in his bare shoulder is new. Raising a brow, Cas grins himself before continuing with his task, careful to avoid getting soap into green eyes. He pulls back his hand when he’s finished, fully prepared to get another towel when a little hand stops him.  _Imlad_  tugs on his wrist without words, moving to hug his guardian all wet and sweet-smelling. Despite getting soaked, Castiel hugs back in earnest. He combs through Dean’s hair with his fingers as the other hides his face in his neck. Behind them, Sam hums a made-up song.

This excessive touching isn’t odd either;  _Imlad_ is extremely affectionate. What is odd, however, is the way Dean blushes upon pulling away, stroking Castiel’s face in a rehearsed and childish manner. Cas lets him do as he wishes, concern teasing at the edges of his mind. But if there’s one thing he’s leant about Dean Winchester, it’s that you cannot make him speak. If something is wrong, he will let Cas know, in time.

With a deep breath, Dean leans in until he almost goes cross-eyed, hands moving to rest on Castiel’s shoulders. He then presses the biggest smack of a kiss on his lips.

Cas is shocked.

He’s even more shocked when Dean looks terrified upon pulling back, tiny hand trembling as he strokes at darker hair. He waits for Cas to speak, but the elfling can do nothing but turn bright red and look away, clearing his throat. “ _Dean_ ,” he hisses, embarrassed.

Dean’s lower lip trembles. “But I saw Anna and her Lifepartner doing it,” he says. “She said it’s only for people who love each other, and we’re best friends forever and I love you and you love me, so it’s good…” He trails off, suddenly less sure. “Right, Cas?”

Castiel chews his lip, trying to calm himself down as he looks at the hopeful, innocent face before him. He grabs a towel and helps Dean out of the tub. “There are many different types of love,  _Imlad_ ,” Cas explains. “Love for your family, for your friends, for your Lifepartner… For elves, you Lifepartner is the only one you kiss on the mouth. He or she will be the only one you display your love to in such a way. For us, intimacy and monogamy—the closeness that comes with kissing and kissing only one person—is very special. It’s not something taken lightly… understand?”

“Kinda,” Dean murmurs. “So, I’m not allowed to kiss you? Even though my momma used to do it to me?”

Cas nuzzles their noses. “Hugging and giving nose kisses is perfectly acceptable, but I’d prefer if we didn’t touch lips,” he says. Dean slumps. “Dean,” Castiel implores. “Please know that I love you very much. You know that, yes? You know that you and your brother are the stars in my sky?”

Green eyes peek up.

“That you’re the… choicest flowers in my garden?”

The declaration is clumsy at best, and Dean giggles at it, looking up more confidently.

“You are the song in my heart,” Castiel says with a goofy grin, grabbing the boy by the waist and cuddling him as Dean shrieks with laughter. Sam perks up and smiles. He carefully puts his toys down and toddles over.

“Dean Winchester, I will love you until the ends of this world and the next, of this I swear by my very own life!” the elfling cries with a laugh of his own. He blows raspberries into Dean’s soft skin, pausing only when Sam tugs on his shirt. “Me, too!” the toddler exclaims.

“Well, of course, that goes without saying, young master Sam,” Cas teases. He easily scoops him up into the fray, until all three collapse onto the marble floor with identical grins. “Bed now,” Castiel sighs, looking to his young companions. “The hour is late.”

“Aw, Cas!” Dean whines, throwing himself dramatically over the elfling’s chest. Sam copies his brother: “ _Cas_!” he cries, giggling as he does the same. Castiel barely holds back a smile.

“Bed now, or you won’t have enough energy to make the trip to the crystal pools tomorrow.”

With two little huffs—one real one from Dean and a faked one from Sam—both boys make their way toward the sink to wash their teeth, during which time Cas helps them with the task before dressing them, brushing out their hair and tucking them in. For the second week in a row, Sam has been sleeping in his own bed with no issue. The child drifts off almost immediately after his head hits the pillow, but his elder brother remains as awake as he was that first night they slept separate. 

This night, however,  _Imlad_ turns to Castiel before rolling over to face Sam, tugging the elfling closer by his hair as he plays with the brown strands. “Cas, who’s  _your_ Lifepartner?”

Once again completely caught off guard, Castiel splutters. His cheeks heat. “I’m only in my 89th year!"

"Will I have to wait until I’m that old to find  _my_  Lifepartner?"

Cas sighs, hoping this is Dean’s last question on the subject. The bond formed between lovers is something so sacred and intimate that even thinking about it turns him into a blushing mess. It’s a private subject meant to only be truly broached with the One, and is generally uncomfortable to discuss with anyone else.

Besides, Cas considers himself a special case. It isn’t  _abnormal_ to be putting aside his search for a bond at his age, not exactly, but it’s still a subject that makes him uncomfortable… especially because he should at least feel  _some_  desire to start looking for his Lifepartner.

Unfortunately for Castiel, there is none. No push. No want. He is completely content to spend his days and nights caring for his Winchesters. Not that anyone can fault him for being such a diligent guardian… but what happens when the boys can take care of themselves? What happens when they want Lifepartners of their own? There is always the possibility of late bond maturation between lovers, but when Cas searches inside himself for the place his  _meleth_ would fill, the space is already occupied.

Perching himself on the edge of the bed, Castiel shakes his head. “No,  _mîl hûn_ ,” he says sweetly, swallowing his discomfort. These are things Dean needs to know. His curiosity is something that should be encouraged, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy to talk about. Grounding himself in the repetitive action of stroking light hair, the elfling takes a breath. “For my people, there is something called  _gwedh_ —the bond,” he blushes. “It is something… powerful between two people, and forms only with your Lifepartner. We call them  _meleth_ , in my tongue— _melethron_ for a male partner and  _melethril_  for a female. I-it’s special, and an elf is only meant to love their  _meleth_. Do you understand so far?”

“Yeah,” Dean replies, playing absently with Castiel’s sleeve. “But when do I find  _my mel-meleth_?”

One look into Dean’s wide green eyes, so curious and willing to learn, relaxes him. The elfling shifts on the bed until they’re laying next to each other, on their sides and eyes locked. “It’s different for everyone,” Cas says softly. “Normally, by your 85th year, you begin to look for your One. Not seriously, but it becomes something adolescents speak of often. By an elf’s 100th year, they are fully grown, and usually begin the search for their  _meleth_ in earnest. Do you still follow?”

Dean frowns. “So… when you have your one hundred birthday, you’re gonna go look for your true love?”

“…Yes,” Cas says, hesitant on some of the translation.  _Gwedh_ is more than true love, but he decides to let it go. Dean understands the general idea.

“So, how many years do you got left?”  _Imlad_ ’s voice has quieted to a whisper, as if this entire conversation has somehow become a secret, just between the two of them. It makes Castiel smile.

“Fifteen years,” he whispers back. “For me, it’s not long at all.”

“And how old will I be?”

“Well, let’s count. How old are you  _right now_?”

Dean looks at his fingers with a frown. “Eight.”

“Six,” Cas corrects softly, fixing the mortal’s hands until he’s holding up six digits. “You have spent six years on this Earth.”

“Six,” Dean repeats.

“Exactly right. So, if we take six and add it to fifteen…” Castiel demonstrates with his own fingers, counting in English slowly: “Sixteen… Seventeen… Eighteen… Nineteen… Twenty… Twenty-One.”

“Oh  _no_!”

“What’s wrong?”

Dean’s lower lip trembles. “I’m not a hundred!”

Castiel is taken aback and forces himself to leave it alone. Even if Dean does mean that he wants to be Lifepartners, he’s much too young to even have an inkling of what that truly means. Besides, there has never been  _gwedh_ between a human and an elf before, and there will never be while his family keeps the peace in  _Imladris_.

“But you’ll be grown,” Castiel says, banishing all thoughts of lovers and bonding from his mind. “For humans, your bodies grow more quickly. Your mind is slower, but by the time you are twenty-one, it will be as if we are one in the same.”

Dean looks lost.

“Do you know how old I was when I was the same height are you,  _Imlad_?”

Dean shakes his head.

“Twenty-one.”

This seems to puzzle the human even more than before, and his frown deepens. Cas is about to try another tactic when the Dean suddenly smiles, big and wide. “You just grow slower than us!”

Never let it be said that Dean Winchester is not brilliant. Extremely proud, Cas nods. “Yes,” he murmurs, catching a stray tear to drip down the other’s cheek. “So you see, we shall be grown at the same time.”

“Good.”

Castiel smiles. “It is good, isn’t it?” Pushing himself up, he brushing their noses together before adjusting Dean’s covers. “Sleep now, we’ve a big day tomorrow.”

“But Cas…”

Castiel turns, expectant.

“Are my Ma and Da in Valiner?”

Like his other queries, this one leaves Cas speechless. Frowning, the elfling seats himself once more. Valinor is a place of peace and tranquility. It is, generally, where the  _edhellen_ go once they grow weary of this world. Of course, Castiel’s  _Adar_  and  _Naneth_  are special cases; sent to the Halls of Mandos where they will remain forever more. These halls are also situated on the island, though the difference between Castiel’s parents and other  _edhellen_  is that the others may return to Middle Earth. Little and less is known of what occurs in the Halls, but one is certain: when Cas himself eventually retires to the isle, he will not be seeing his mother and father.

“Why so many questions,  _mîl hûn_?” the elfling asks thickly, blinking back a sudden onslaught of tears. He reminds himself he’s a Little Lord and sits up straight, regal. Untouchable.

Dean’s shrug and sudden hug break his resolve.

In a heap, the pair fall into one another, clutching at clothing tightly. Tears are once again collecting in pretty green eyes and Castiel wipes them away as best he can, trying to keep himself under control. “Valinor,” he corrects half-heartedly. “Why do you want to know about Valinor?”

Dean shrugs again. “Uriel said—”

“Uriel should not speak on matters of which he knows little and less,” Castiel interrupts. He shifts then, cupping his charge’s smaller face between his hands. The pads of his thumbs brush away moisture from Dean’s freckled cheeks, and Castiel feels a tear escape to stream down his own face. “You listen to me, Dean Winchester, with both ears,” he says sternly. “They say Valinor is the most beautiful place in all of Middle Earth, and your parents rest there now, in the Halls of Mandos with my own.”

“But Uriel told me that humans don't get let in! He said—”

"Never mind what he said," Castiel soothes. "Your parents are there with mine."

"But how do you  _know_?"

The truth is that Castiel doesn’t know. Though Elves and Men enter the Hall together, the fate of the latter is not known after their judgement there… But Cas can’t tell Dean this. He can’t tell wide, hopeful green eyes and a sniffling, dripping nose. He can’t tell tightly gripping fingers and the jackrabbit of a tiny heart. He can’t.

"Because in death our souls are the same, Dean,” Castiel answers, lying. He holds his charge tightly. “And I have no doubt that your parents' souls are as bright and good as your own. That is what determines if you rest in Valinor, not your vessel."

It’s a nice thought, one that Dean clearly enjoys as he curls up in Cas’s lap, playing with the tassels of his shirt. "Does Sammy have a bright soul?"

"The second brightest I've ever seen."

"Who's the first?"

Castiel presses their foreheads together. "Yours."

It’s only a half-lie this time; for though the elfling cannot see souls, he’s certain that if he could, Dean Winchester’s would be the brightest in the entire world.

“Do you have a bright soul, too?”

“I don’t know,” Cas replies. “I can’t see my own soul.”

“I think you do.”

Inexplicably, Castiel feels himself getting emotional again. He tries to swallow the lump in his throat but with every swipes of Dean’s hand on his drying cheeks makes him want to cry all the more. It shouldn’t be like this,  _Imlad_ should be comforted, not giving comfort…

“It’s okay, Cas. It’s okay.”

Castiel hides his face in Dean’s small body. He feels ashamed. Ashamed that this child is wise beyond his years. Ashamed that he’s turning to one so much younger than himself.

“My Da died because he was savin’ me an’ Sammy from the monsters,” Dean says softly. “Our house was burned by the big dragon and my Ma was inside. But they’re with  _your_  Ma and Da now, Cas, so it’s okay. They’re friends, just like us.”

Though he feels like screaming at the injustice of it all, Castiel swallows thickly and sits up, nodding. Unable to help himself, he presses a kiss to Dean’s smooth forehead, uncaring of any and all societal rules that forbid him to do so. “ _Imlad Leich_ ,” he breathes. “ _Imlad bain beren, ci **muin**_.”

Dean nods as though he completely understands Castiel’s inappropriate confession, wrapping his arms around the older being’s waist as he rests his head right above the elfling’s heart, rubbing his nose into his thin undershirt. “You’re my family, too.”

Castiel all but chokes.

He does everything he can to calm down, carefully extracting Dean from around him to bend until they’re of a height. “ _Nîn noss_ ,” he says, shaky.

“ _Nîn noss_.”

“My family, yes.” Before he can loose his nerve, Castiel swoops in to plant a kiss to Dean’s plump cheek. He doesn’t know why he does it, and he doesn’t care. His  _Imlad_  deserves all the love in the world. “Sleep now,  _mîl hûn_. Dream well.”

Dean does as he’s told, laying back and snuggling further under his covers. Cas smoothes his hair once before leaving the room.

As soon as he closes the door, he breaks. 

( _Sweet Dean. Beautiful, brave Dean, you are **beloved**._ )


	4. Braid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a braid, and a nightmare.

When Dean is eight years old, his hair is long enough to properly braid. Though Castiel makes it clear that  _Imlad_ can most definitely crop his locks or trim them to shoulder length, as the race of men traditionally do, Dean insists on adhering to elvish custom.

The choice makes Castiel feel oddly, well… odd; his smile just a touch too wide and cheeks too pink. It feels as if he’s imbibed an entire bottle of sweet wine and his stomach is flipping in response to the shimmery, warm, giddy sensation he gets from one too many. The troublesome reaction Cas has in response to the lightness in his chest is soon swallowed by it, leaving the elfling with nothing but excitement as he tucks himself into bed, eager for sunrise. For some reason, having Dean look like one of his people—like his family, is important.

So, naturally, the entire ordeal ends up a disaster.

Dean won’t sit still because he’s obsessed with looking at the back of his own head, and Sam is much too curious about each braid and its significance for his own good. The four-year old’s favourite question has become ‘why?’ over the past months, and Castiel has just about had enough:  _Why does that braid mean something different? Why is that one twisted like that? Why is Anna’s braid so pretty and twirly but you just have one?_ Between Dean squirming, Sam speaking and reaching forward to touch and muss his progress, the elfling’s joy over what he believes is a momentous occasion has been sucked away.

Now, all Castiel feels is frustration and exhaustion.

“Why are you starting over?” Sam asks, all innocent curiosity as he drapes himself over Cas’s shoulder. Dean groans.

“We’re starting over  _again?"_

“Because neither of you can  _hold still_ ,” Castiel growls tersely.

Anael chooses that moment to enter the room, and it’s not a second too soon. Sam, has, by now crawled to sit cross-legged at Cas’s back and make a rat’s nest of his hair, while Dean squirms at having to sit still for so long.

Castiel is losing his mind.

“ _Esseru,_  what is it that you’re doing?” Anna asks as she approaches. Cas doesn’t even have to see her face to picture the wince twisting her features. He heaves a relieved breath when his sister plucks Sam Winchester from the ground.

“Hey!” the youngest Winchester whines. “I’m not done yet! I gotta twist this part and, um… tie that other one there. And  _then_ —”

“Have you seen mine?”

In a lovely twirl of green light blue robes and fire red hair, Anael effectively captures the attention of one Sam Winchester. “ _Oooh_.”

His attentions are well-merited. Anael’s braids are the loveliest in all of _Imladris_ , with the few silver strands threaded through each one flawlessly. She has beautiful glass beads and metalwork incorporated into the most important of the braids; those symbolizing her social and romantic status, as well as her place within elvish society itself. When dirty little fingers reach up to touch red Castiel winces, but his sister is as patient as ever, and Anael lets Sam feel once before moving out of his reach. “Come,  _Esseru_ , you may braid  _my_  hair.”

“Really?” Sam whispers, awed.

Anna is already removing her circlet. She plucks the delicate thing from the top of her head and carefully undoes the silver bands from where they’re holding her hairstyle together, shaking her red locks out leave them wavy and beautiful. Castiel has not seen Anna’s hair loose since he was very small; the act of braiding and brushing usually left up to the head of the house or, later, a Lifepartner. He forgot how carefree and young she looks without it pulled back. She’s beautiful.

Apparently, Sam seems to think so as well. He not only ceases his talking, but turns, shy and smiley, answering every question and statement with a delicate blush and shrugged little shoulder. Dean seems just as enamoured, and Castiel merely rolls his eyes at his boys, taking advantage of the turned blonde head before him to brush out a particularly stubborn knot.

He feels uneasy.

Watching Dean become so enraptured by his sister should not be something to fret over, but the child’s wide green eyes cause a discomfort to develop deep within Cas's gut. The emotion isn’t as strong with Sam, though it’s still present, and he struggles over it for a moment before giving up completely. Whatever he’s feeling, it’s inappropriate and unneeded. Anna is his sister. She is safe and she is family and she is  _mated_. There is no danger of Castiel losing either one of his Winchesters to her because she has a Lifepartner. Moreover, the age gap is enormous… much larger than say, himself and Dean. Which is, of course, absurd to even think about: humans and elves do not mate.

Though he feels ashamed, Castiel is relieved when Anna takes Sam out of the room. Dean then turns to face forward, and the elfling starts on his braids in earnest. He’s finished about one out of two—the simple twisting braid of a low-ranking warrior—when his brows pull together. “You’ve been very quiet,  _mîl hûn_. Is something the matter?”

Dean’s little shoulders move up and down in a half-hearted shrug. “Why don’t you act the same when we’re around the other elves?”

Castiel frowns. He finishes up the braid and begins the next one. “How do you mean?”

“Like… you never kiss me and Sammy on the cheek when the others are around, and you don’t hug us, and be like  _Cas_.” Even facing away from, the elfling knows Dean is making a face when he speaks next: “You’re like  _Cas-ti-el_.”

Despite the gravity of his words, Cas can’t help but smile at his charge’s petulant tone. “I wasn’t aware there was a difference.”

“Oh, there is,” Dean assures him. “ _Cas_  is all fun and he takes us to the crystal pools and lets us try rainbow fruits and stuff. He gives us kisses and hugs all the time and we have tickle wars and build forts in bed.  _Cas-ti-el_  doesn’t do any of that. He has a big fat stick up his butt and he doesn’t even love us.”

Cas frowns. “Firstly, I hope you’re going to apologize for saying I have a stick up my rectum—”

Dean giggles at the word.

“—Yes,  _rectum_ ,” Castiel says firmly. “That is its anatomically correct name and I did not raise you to be ignorant. I hope you realize that if you do  _not_ apologize sincerely, you will  _not_ be going to the crystal pools with Sam and I tomorrow. I also hope you realize that your colourful language cost you your dessert tonight—”

“But Cas—!”

“No. Calling names is rude and hurtful and I have  _never_ encouraged that kind of behaviour. Where did you learn to say that?”

Dean blushes all the way to the backs of his shoulders. “Gabriel,” he says meekly.

“You can rest assured that Gabriel and I will be having words regarding what is appropriate to tell children.” Releasing Dean’s hair, Cas rests his hands in his lap. He swallows thickly to find his voice again. “You hurt my feelings, Dean.”

Dean turns to face his caretaker, climbing into Cas’s space to sit in his legs. He wraps his arms around the elfling in a hug. “I didn’t mean to,” he says earnestly. 

“I love both you and Sam  _so much_.”

“Then why can’t you just be Cas all the time?”

Castiel closes his eyes. He buries his face into Dean’s smaller neck, inhaling the lavender spice scent that comes off smooth skin. “Do you remember when I explained why I couldn’t kiss you on the mouth?”

“Yeah.”

Cas wraps his arms around Dean’s smaller body more securely. Dean squeezes back. “Elves,” Castiel explains, “are very formal creatures. We’re not as affectionate as most humans.” Pulling back, the elfling puts his hand over his heart and bows ever so slightly. “This is how we give a hug.”

Dean frowns, clearly dissatisfied with the action before throwing his arms around Castiel’s neck in a  _real_ embrace. “I like my version better.”

“Me too,” Cas confesses quietly. His heart is pounding with the weight of his declaration. Elves do not show affection. Elves do not kiss and hug as humans do; they do not touch freely. Castiel is broken. Something is so broken inside of him if he can’t even control his affections for a  _child._ “Do you now understand why I cannot be the same when we are alone as when we are in front of the others?” he asks. “Touching is not something elves do,  _mîl hûn_. In the best of cases I would be disgraced and ostracized—meaning nobody would want anything to do with me and I’d be left out. In the worst case, I would be cast out.” Tracing his long fingers in a pattern against Dean’s back, the elfling tickles him. “And then when would I see you?”

Dean giggles and squirms in Castiel’s arms, causing the older boy to look at him with a smile. He pulls back with a sigh, nuzzling their noses together. “So, it’s like a secret?” he whispers.

Cas smiles. “Exactly.”

“And you always love me and Sammy?”

“With all of myself, every moment I draw breath.”

“That’s a lot,” Dean says.

“It is,” Castiel agrees. “Now, sit down properly so I can finish your hair.”

Dean all but crushes Cas’s groin in his clumsy acquiescence, settling himself just a hair too close to be considered comfortable for braiding. Nevertheless, Castiel doesn’t say a word. Instead, he listens, smiling, as Dean hums a made up song… and when the human reaches back to pull all the loose bits of material from Cas’s robes onto his own lap, Castiel’s heart soars.

He doesn’t understand why.

It’s another half hour before Dean’s final braid is done, and when it is, Castiel takes a moment to appreciate his own handiwork. He’s never been particularly proficient at braiding, but this particular piece is a work of art. It twists and turns and knots in all the right places, and few but strategically placed green beads catch the light every time Dean moves.

Though braids are meant to have meaning, they are also meant to represent the wearer of them, and Castiel believes that the playful, loving twists of hair he has styled do just that. They give the impression of a joyful, boyish child steeped in love and affection: Dean Winchester in a nutshell.

“Can I see? When can I see? Is it done?”

Cas bites his lip. “Go on.”

When Dean gets to the mirrors, he gasps. “ _Wow_ ,” he whispers. One of his hands reaches back to brush across the braids curiously. “What do they mean?”

“Well,” Cas says, making his way over. “The plain one to the left is the mark of a low-ranking warrior. I have spoken to Michael and he has agreed that you fit that description.”

“But I didn’t fight in any wars.”

“You helped save your brother from a dragon, Dean,” Castiel says kindly. “Sometimes, the most noble acts within a war are not ones of violence.”

Dean chews his bottom lip, nodding. His breath hitches in his chest and his palms wipe at his robes. “W-what’s the other one?”

“That is the mark of my house.”

Dean frowns in confusion.

“Your name is Winchester, but I hope you will accept being a part of my family,” Cas says. “By wearing the braid on the right, you pledge yourself officially to the clan as one of Michael’s closest loved ones. Like me.”

“So then why doesn’t your braid look the same?”

Castiel grins. “I choose to keep my braids at their simplest forms,” he explains. “Though it’s odd, Michael allows it.”

“But then why didn’t you do mine like yours?”

The truth is because Cas is being ridiculous. He wants everyone to see that the Winchesters are a part of  _his_  family, and an ornate braid is a perfect way of accomplishing that. It’s a claim, really, and a foolish one at that. Nobody particularly cares who Dean or Sam pledge themselves to and it’s to be expected that they belong in the house of their guardian.

Oddly enough, knowing this does not stop Castiel from doing it.

Though looking at the disappointment on Dean Winchester’s face, he now thinks he shouldn’t have.

“I thought you’d prefer the real thing the first time,” Cas says. “I apologize for not asking you. When they have to be re-done, we can do them like mine.”

Dean looks at himself in the mirror again, twirling around once just to see how everything moves. He’s truly a handsome child, and Castiel hopes that people pay more attention to how elf-like Dean looks with the braids than how much love and devotion clearly went into them. Children are rarely given such detailed styles because they get ruined, but Dean deserves braids that are as beautiful as he is.

“Okay. But they can be like yours soon, right?”

“Right.”

Anna and Sam come back not three minutes later, the latter bounding to Dean to inspect Castiel work. Anael’s hair is in complete disarray, but she’s smiling. When Dean shows her his braids, she raises a brow.

Cas winces as his sister makes her way over, watching her smooth down her robes before sitting down with more grace than Castiel possesses in his little finger. He attempts to give a disarming smile and no doubt fails miserably. “ _Esseru_  is quite a talent,” he offers lightly.

Anna looks over at the boy fondly. “He is at that. And so incredibly curious… though I must say, Castiel, the boy acted rather odd.”

“Oh?” Cas asks innocently.

“He wrapped his arms around me in a hug.”

“Oh.”

Anna looks concerned. “Castiel,” she says. “I have nothing against encouraging human custom, but Michael will not like it. We are supposed to teach them our ways, not stoop to take part in their own. Physical affection is so…  _base_.”

“I understand.”

She bites her lip. “That being said, I can see the appeal. They are such loving creatures, your Winchesters.” A frown. “But I worry for you. You’re meant to be finding a Lifemate, not taking care of children. If you need help—”

“Oh no, it’s no trouble for me… I adore them.”

“I know,” she smiles. “And anybody within five seconds of meeting you will know the same… I only worry that perhaps you are getting too invested. They’re mortal, Cas. Their time on this plane is short.”

“Then I should do everything in my power to make it memorable.”

“Castiel…”

“Anna,” Cas says lightly. “It’s not as if I’m planning to make either one of these children my Lifepartner. They are  _children_. They also happen to be part of my family, and as such… I love them. Very much.”

Anna sighs. “Just be careful,” she implores. “You know Michael would not approve of what you’re doing here.”

With a curt, tense nod, Castiel releases her from the conversation, turning back to his boys with his chin on his knees. There is nothing wrong with loving someone.

There is nothing wrong with loving someone.

~ * ~ 

 _There is nothing wrong with loving someone_.

Castiel is so distraught he doesn’t hear it. Caught up in his own head, he barely even sees the gorgeous view from his balcony. Cas misses the way the lights and torches of  _Imladris_ twinkle in the midnight blue of the night, painting his home in dots of starlight like the sky overhead. He is looking at the entirety of the endless, wondrous potential of the Universe, but with his forearms resting on the marble balustrade, Castiel can't see anything but black.

Black; with little finite, burning lights close to extinction.

_There is nothing wrong with loving someone._

Is there? Is the fact that Dean’s life will flicker out as the firelight below significant? Is it not better to love him and know him than miss that opportunity? Castiel considers his existence to be bettered by the Winchesters… how else was Michael expecting him to receive them? As Uriel, with thinly veiled disgust?

What is wrong with loving his boys?

The ungraceful thump and slide of small feet pull him from his thoughts before he’s ready, leaving Castiel’s face melancholy and exhausted when little Sam Winchester bursts through the curtains, gasping and tear-stained. “Cas!” he cries, throwing himself at his guardian. “Cas come quick!”

Sobered by Sam’s panic, Castiel immediately leans down, shushing at cooing at the child as he blubbers and grasps at his arms. “It’s  _Dean_!” he sobs, pulling Cas towards the door. “It’s Dean: he woke up and he was yelling and crying and then he got really quiet and pushed me away and he’s shaking he’s not talking Cas he’s broken  _please_!”

Castiel runs so fast he may as well have flown to the Winchester’s shared bedroom.

Sure enough, Dean sits with his head buried in his knees, arms wrapped around his drawn up legs. He trembles and hiccups every so often, and the scent of his normal lavender spice is tainted by the salt of tears.

“Dean,” Cas breathes, moving towards the bed. He sits down immediately but hesitates to touch, finally working up the courage to push his fingers through Dean’s hair. “Dean, talk to me, please. What’s wrong?”

Dean sniffles, but leans into Cas’s touch. The elf takes it as a good sign.

“What’s the matter,  _Imlad_?” he asks softly. “You can tell me.  _Mîl hûn,_ please. Everybody is safe, I promise. You and Sammy are safe. I’ll never let anything happen to you. Never. If I swear one oath in my life it will be to ensure the safety of you and your brother.”

Castiel’s hand moves down to rub Dean’s back, but the child doesn’t quiet. He shakes less, but stays firmly planted in his curled up state. Cas’s heart lodges itself in his throat. “Nothing will harm you while I’m around,” he repeats. “Not dragons, or orcs or wraiths. Any shadow will have to fight to even have a chance at touching your light.”

Dean’s shoulders shake with another hiccup, but he nods against his knees in understanding. Castiel can see the boy take a deep breath.

And suddenly they’re hugging.

Dean has managed to launch himself at Cas’s chest more quickly than a hobbit late to supper, his hands buried in the elfling sleep clothes. He hides his face in Castiel’s chest, leaving damp salt and snot all over him in aborted, hitching sobs.

Cas holds him.

“Dean, it’s okay. It’s okay, Dean. I promise you’re safe. I promise Sam is safe.”

Speaking of the youngest Winchester,  _Esseru_ is cuddled under the covers at the edge of the bed. Despite the fact that his hazel eyes are wide and worried, he’s twirling his own hair sleepily. Content that he is alright for the time being, Cas turns back to Dean. “What happened,  _mîl hûn?_ ” he asks softly. His hand resumes the original stroking motion through light hair. “Are you feeling ill?”

Dean shakes his head. His sobs taper off.

“Did you have a nightmare?”

The terrified pause is enough for Castiel to determine what had happened, even without Dean’s very hesitant nod. Knowing that he had always wanted to be cuddled and loved when he had been small and frightened, Cas does all he can for Dean. He hefts the boy up more firmly in his arms; cuddling him and rubbing his back and scratching at the base of his skull. Thankfully, Dean seems to melt at these attentions. He turns to soft clay in Castiel’s arms, warm and heavy and smelling of the Earth.

“It was a dream,” the elfling repeats, over and over. “You’re alright now. I’ve got you.”

Dean heaves a shaky sigh.

“Don’t die, Cas,” he whispers, terrified. “Don’t ever die.”

~ * ~

 _Imlad_ = Dean  
_Esseru_ = Sam  
_Imladris_ = Rivendell


	5. My Absolute Honour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a child is sick, an elfling is affectionate, and Michael is a dick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, glossary at the bottom and hover for immediate translation!

For the fourth night in a row, Castiel wakes gasping. He's drenched in cold sweat, his sleep robe sticking uncomfortably to his skin as his chest heaves with breath.

_"Castiel, don't you love me?"_

Lately, it's always the same dream. Formless, fuzzy touching and tasting in a warmly lit room; Cas’s tummy flipping and dipping in anticipation…

" _Bond with me_."

It's pleasurable, oh _Eru_ is it ever pleasurable, but when it comes time to reach out, to tie their souls together—

_"Why won't you bond with me?"_

_"I-I can't."_

His Lifepartner begs him; pleads with him, but it's no use. Castiel cannot form a bond. Even in dreams, he is is broken. He'll never find his One. Dean and Sam will get big and find Lifepartners of their own and Cas will be alone. He will be—

"...Cas?"

The question is punctuated by a sniffle, and Castiel forces himself out of his own head long enough to slip out of bed. He kneels on the marble floor below, taking in the eight year-old's flushed cheeks and glassy eyes with a lurch of his heart. Dean had been coughing quite a bit in the past few days, the thing wet and worrying. Praying to _Eru_ for the opposite, Cas puts his cheek to Dean's forehead, cursing his unstable temperature as he tries to feel for fever. "What's the matter?"

Dean's fingers clutch to his sweaty clothing. "Don't feel good."

"How do you feel, Dean?"

Castiel is sure to keep his voice calm and low, careful not to give away the utter terror he's feeling. Elves do not get sick as humans do, and when his boys are ill, there is always the uncertainty of not knowing. Not knowing how to care for them, not knowing what causes the illness... Not knowing if they'll make it through.

With another sniffle and cough, Dean presses his hand to his throat, squeezing his eyes shut. A tear runs down his cheek. "My throat hurts," he says pathetically. "And my tummy feels yucky inside."

Cas bites his lip and pushes his hands through Dean's hair. The child's skin is pale and his braids are askew. "How do you mean?"

From the way Dean's skin takes on a green tinge, Cas immediately knows what 'yucky inside' refers to. "I don't wanna throw up, Cas," his charge replies, panicked.

Castiel scoops Dean into his arms and rubs his back. He starts moving towards the bathroom. "If you throw up, it will only make you feel better. Do you remember the last time?"

A nod.

"Let's get something to settle your stomach and we'll see how you feel then, alright?"

Dean coughs so hard he gags. Whimpering, he buries his face into Cas's neck and inhales. Castiel holds him more tightly. "It's okay," he shushes. "We'll fix it."

Cas deposits Dean on the counter and rummages in the cupboard now reserved for various human things: special sticks to keep clean teeth, salves and healing balms, and various herbs. Deftly, Castiel plucks the tiny bottle containing essence of mint, and pours a generous amount in a nearby goblet.

Dean burps and makes a face. Tears stream down his face as he touches his own throat. "M-make it stop," he begs, gagging again. "C-Cas  _please_!"

This time, when Castiel leans in to press his lips to Dean's forehead, the flesh is unmistakably hot. His terror must be apparent on his face, because Dean immediately pales further, reaching forward to hold tight to Cas's sweat-damp sleep robe. "Am I gonna die? Cas, I don't wanna die!"

"You won't die," he assures, inwardly cursing his own inability to keep calm.

"I don't wanna throw up." Dean is babbling now, panicked and frightened. He's making Castiel panic, too. "I don't wanna die. Make it stop CasCas  _please_  make it so nothing bad happens—"

With the next coughing fit, Dean loses complete control. He works himself up until he's pressing at his sore throat, the sobbing and talking no doubt making that pain worse. He's hysterical, and Castiel has absolutely no idea what to do. Desperate, the elfling scoops Dean off the counter and they sit on the floor. He grabs one of the spare chamber pots just in case.

Dean vomits.

He manages to get it into the pot, which is good, though he needs to calm down if he wants a hope of not choking. Rearranging them so they're sitting back-to-chest, Castiel helps steady Dean's hands on white porcelain. He presses his face into the back of the child's sweat-soaked hair and murmurs encouragement: "You're doing so well, Dean,  _so well_. That's it,  _mîl hûn_. Good, let it out."

The smell is disgusting, especially with Castiel's enhanced olfactory sense, but inhaling Dean's natural, if sickly scent, makes it better. He presses them together more firmly as Dean moans in pain. " _Ca-a-aas_..."

"I'm right here," Castiel says softly. "I've got you." He grits his teeth at another moan of pain. Dean heaves again but nothing comes up. "Shh shh, it's okay."

He hates this. If an elf were ill or injured, he'd no doubt be able to heal them. If Dean had an actual wound, Castiel is certain the magic would transfer... But whatever this is? The elfling doesn't want to risk harming his human further.

So he sits and comforts, helpless, as Dean heaves until there is nothing left.

They brush his teeth and Castiel places the pot outside lest it stink up the entire room. Dean smells sour, but now is not the time for a shower; he looks about ready to collapse.

"You did so well," Cas whispers, pressing a kiss to a damp temple. "So well."

Dean smiles tiredly. He looks small despite the fact that he’s grown since first arriving, his weakness and sickness making him tiny in his own body. It’s amazing how, despite his true age, here Dean resembles his five year-old self; more dependent and needy and touch-starved.

It’s worrisome.

As a precaution, Castiel helps his charge drink the essence of mint, checking for fever as an added measure. Insofar, temperature has always decreased to something manageable after being physically ill.

Dean’s forehead is on fire.

He coughs and groans as he flops onto Cas’s body, shivering despite the fact that he feels incredibly warm.

Castiel’s heart is in his throat.

He carefully wraps his arms around the child, hyperaware of the shaky quality of his voice as he speaks: “Dean? We’re going to see Gabriel, alright?” Another cough. Another whimper. Dean nods. He fact that he doesn’t ask after Sam—alone, now, in their room—gives Cas serious cause for concern. Against his neck, he can feel tears squeeze out from Dean’s eyes.

When they reach Gabriel’s room, the healer is in bed. Castiel is so distraught he enters without knocking. He is far too terrified to be embarrassed by the image of his brother feeding sweetgrapes to Kali, his Lifepartner. Cas doesn’t even manage a blush.

"Gabriel," he chokes, arms tight around his charge. Castiel can barely see for how tear-blurred his vision has become. He makes a valiant effort to stay calm about Dean's wheezing.

Gabriel sits up immediately. The elder elf gives his Lifepartner a quick kiss before righting his clothing and ushering elfling and human alike into his own private bathroom. Kali, Gabriel's mate, covers herself and follows.

" _Man lárë_?”

Castiel understands the question but is far too stressed to reply in Sindarin himself. Spending all his time with the Winchesters has him accustomed to human speech, and this is now, automatically, what he uses to answer. "I-I don't know," Cas cries. "He was ill so he vomited, but his fever persisted and his cough—"

Castiel is interrupted by a wet, ugly sound against his neck. He bites his lip so hard it bleeds. "I don't know what to do."

Besides a slight pause for Castiel's choice of language, Gabriel nods, all business. From the door, Kali suggests something that her Lifepartner nods to. He murmurs something in return and she leaves only to come back with a vile of blue liquid. Gabriel asks her to go to bed.

"How long ago did he vomit?"

"I don't... I'm not sure." Cas swallows thickly. "Not long. We came straight from our bathroom."

"So worse than what Sam had." He mutters to himself in Sindarin, too low and fast for Castiel to catch in his panicked state. Of his part, the elfling tries to comfort his charge as best he can. He watches his brother grab a cloth and wet it with cold water. "Put this on his forehead. When it gets warm, wet it again."

Cas sits and rearranges Dean so he can do as he's told.

The child groans and wheezes again, weakly reaching for Castiel's clothing. He sighs in relief when the cold compress touches his skin.

"Did you give him anything?"

"Essence of mint."

"Good." Cas hears the grind of a mortar and pestle and the mixing of liquid. He feels for Dean when a disgusting smelling concoction is placed under his nose. "Dean?"

Dean groans, but his eyes flutter open.

"Hey there, kiddo," Gabriel smiles. "I need you to drink this for me, okay?"

Dean shakes his head vigorously.

"Yeah, you gotta do it, squirt. Look, I'll even have Cas give it to you."

It takes a lot of coercing, but eventually the goblet is empty. Dean groans again. Castiel re-wets the compress.

"We should go to the steam pools," Gabriel says quietly, pushing a spoonful of honey towards Dean’s lips. "Kid can barely breathe as it is, we need to get rid of whatever's in his lungs."

"Then let's go," Cas urges. " _Now_."

The walk there is quiet and quick, the only sounds the slips of their bare feet against stone and the wheeze of Dean's swallow breath. Upon arriving, Gabriel leads the way into the furthest and smallest steam pool. He enters the tiny cave it's located in with the blankets he'd brought, and sets himself up in a seated position, hands reaching out from the dark. The bucket of cold water has been left outside. "’Kay, give him to me."

But Dean refuses to let go of Castiel.

Cas, simultaneously thrilled and horrified, blushes deeply. "Dean—"

"Please don't leave me, Cas.  _Please_."

"I'll be right outside."

" _Cas_."

It's with great care that Castiel and Gabriel switch positions, the former careful of Dean's head and limbs as the latter crawls out of the tiny space more suited to his short stature. Inside, the cave is damp and cramped, with only the dim blue-green glow from the wall-plants as light.

Cas rubs his hand over Dean's back and pays extra careful attention to his breathing. Every few minutes, Gabriel will wet the compress and ask how he's doing. It's sticky and gross and Castiel is loosing feeling in his limbs, but he does not complain. Instead, the elfling takes the opportunity to undo Dean's braids, tying lighter hair in a loose bun to keep it from his charge's face and back. While working, he presses kisses and mutters songs into soft skin.

"So, what's the deal with you?"

Castiel frowns in the middle of the Song of Creation, pulling away to answer. Dean is wheezing less, thank  _Eru_ , and they're separated by a stone cave, but Gabriel speaks loud enough for his voice to carry. "I don't understand."

"With you and Wheezy McGee over there," Gabriel clarifies breezily. "What's the deal?"

"No deals have been made," Cas replies sternly. "None of any kind."

"You know what I mean."

Castiel's face darkens. "I really don't think I do, Gabriel. And I'd be much obliged if you stopped talking at this exhausting and stressful time. Thank you."

"Like how you're so quiet with your heartfelt singing?" he snorts. "You guys are fine in there." A pause. Castiel squeezes his eyes shut and waits. "Cas—"

There it is. "I don't want to hear it."

"Well, people are saying it."

Castiel grits his teeth.  _There is nothing wrong with loving someone_. "Loving and being in love are two very different things," he says. "What you are suggesting is perverted. I would never—"

"Of course you wouldn't," Gabriel says. "You'd never hurt him, you're in love with him."

Cas swallows thickly, suddenly feeling very ill himself. "How dare you accuse me of such a thing?” he demands. “How can I be in love with a  _child_?"

"Easy. Whatever his needs are, you're there. Right now, he needs a guardian. A teacher. A friend. Later..."

"He will find a human mate and forget all about me. I am... a temporary comfort." Castiel hopes his voice does not sound as choked with emotion as it does within the small cave. He holds Dean more tightly. "Elves and humans cannot..."

Gabriel sighs. "Okay, Cas."

"You don't believe me."

"No," he says. "I don't. Because that kid? He's as much in love with you as you are with him. He just doesn't know it yet." A resigned pause. "With  _Eru_  as my witness, you two were fated from the day Michael brought them home."

Castiel swallows thickly. His heart is pounding in his chest and his palms are sweaty, though because of Gabriel's words or the steam itself, Cas isn't sure. He's sure what he needs to say, however, no matter how unstable his voice sounds:

"You're wrong."

Even without seeing, Cas knows Gabriel is forcing smile. "You'll see, Castiel," his brother replies. "You will."

They don't talk until Dean is breathing easily. The child is tired but no longer congested, and sleeps soundly against Cas's shoulder. On their way back, his fever finally breaks. Despite this, Gabriel wants Dean to stay in his room to monitor him during the night, and the human refuses to go anywhere without Castiel.

Gabriel is the one who gets them fresh clothes from their rooms, stopping to inform Anna that Sam is sleeping there alone (at Castiel's request). When he returns, Cas can feel both Gabriel and Kali observing the gentle, affectionate way he helps his charge change and get into bed. Dean is exhausted.

"Just for the record," Gabriel says as he helps tuck his younger brother and human into the small cot. He messes Castiel's hair. "I'm rooting for you guys."

With a scowl, Cas pushes him off. " _Goodnight_ , Gabriel."

Gabriel only laughs. "Night, Cassie."

In dreams, Castiel's Lifepartner fades to gold and green.

 

~ * ~

 

Cas is the first to wake.

Though he isn't necessarily discombobulated, it takes a handful of seconds to understand why his bed is not as comfortable as it usually is. Then Dean huffs a sigh against his collarbone.

Castiel sighs in return.

He forces himself awake, checking to make sure his little human is breathing uninhibited before verifying that the fever is gone. Dean stirs throughout the process, until finally, his green eyes flutter open clear and sleepy, no fever-brightness in sight.

"Cas?"

He coughs, but it's less wet and worrying. Castiel presses a kiss to his forehead. "Good morning, _Imlad_. Did you have a good sleep?"

Dean sighs again and cuddles into his elf, peeking out from the covers. Immediately, he tenses. "Where's Sam?"

"In your rooms," Castiel replies. "Gabriel wanted you here in order to make sure you were okay during the night. I left Sam in Anna's care. Would you like to see him?"

Surprisingly, Dean seems to think on this before nodding. He squeezes Castiel's larger hand within his own and gives Cas's cheek a soft little kiss. "Thanks for taking care of me."

Castiel blushes. " _Nîn noss_ ," he says simply, thickly.

Dean smiles back. " _Nîn noss_."

Sam is with Anna in the North library, the two pouring over an old set of maps when Dean enters. He desperately needs a shower, but is hugged all the same, _Esseru_ tugging his brother over to show him where they are in relation to the rest of Middle Earth. It's early afternoon, but it soon becomes abundantly clear that Dean is still exhausted. He's healing and needs sleep; the meager hours they caught between the steam pools and waking were not enough.

Cas explains this to both boys before gathering Dean in his arms to leave, the eldest Winchester holding on tight instead of going through his usual protests about being manhandled. Castiel is thankful. He wants to get Dean bathed and asleep as quickly as possible.

But before Cas can even think of leaving, there is a tug on his sleeve for a good morning hug and kiss. The elfling feels terrible that he almost forgot, and immediately drops to his knees, giving his four year-old the attention he is normally shown each morning. This involves intimate conversations about Sam's dreams, a hug, a kiss to his plump little cheek, and, at  _Esseru_ 's insistence, a check to see if his hair is long enough to braid.

_Now?_

_Not yet._

_Aw, man._

"Thanks for taking care of my brother," Sam whispers once they're done. He pats Dean's head affectionately. Of course, this causes the eldest Winchester to protest loudly. Cas, wisely, does not take that bait and instead nuzzles Sam's nose with a smile. "It was my pleasure, master Sam."

From the work-desk, Anael looks on with morbid fascination.

Sam grins widely at his favourite nickname and puts on a serious face, pursing his lips and turning on his heel no doubt to get back to work. Castiel has to cough to stop from laughing. "Best of luck in your academic ventures," he nods. "If you should need either of us, we’ll be in your rooms."

“Yeah,” Dean mumbles, the word clearly meant as a barb as he says it, weak and tired against Castiel’s neck. “I get to be just me and Cas, so  _there_.”

Not only does the elfling bite his lip to hide his surely irrational smile at the sleepy dig, but he fully ignores the odd, excited pounding of his heart. He’s tired, surely. Carrying an eight-year-old boy is exhausting and he simply needs rest; his body is reacting to that, nothing more.

Still, it’s with flaming cheeks that Castiel strides out of the library.

By the time he enters the Winchesters' room, his charge is almost asleep. Dean is drowsy and mumbling nonsense, curled around Castiel’s body. He smells so strongly of sick and sweat and overall illness that Cas seriously considers bathing him before putting him to bed. “Dean?”

“Mmph.”

Cas supposes that the grunt answers that question. He strides across the room, about to deposit his little human onto his soft mattress when—

“Wait, no!”

Dean latches onto Castiel so tightly the elfling almost has trouble breathing.

“What is it?” he asks, panicked. “Are you going to be sick? What’s wrong?”

“No,” Dean mumbles, refusing to look at his bed. “I… I can’t sleep in there; I’m all  _dirty_!”

Cas slumps in relief, craning his neck until Dean finally moves enough for them to be eye-locked. “You’re exhausted,  _mîl hûn,_ ” he murmurs. “We can change the sheets after you’ve woken up,”

Dean shivers, as if the very idea is too disgusting for him to even vocalize, and shakes his head vigorously. “I need a bath,” he says. A yawn. “’M not…  _clean enough_.”

Over the years, Castiel has noticed Dean’s obsession with being clean before sleeping; his slight anxiety and disturbance with germs and filth… but never in a million years would he have thought that such a quirk would cause a clingy, tuckered out eight year-old to insist upon a bath in the middle of the afternoon.

It still happens.

Even with all his reasoning and insistence, Dean and Cas manage to be standing in the middle of the bathroom, drenched. The compromise had been a wipe-down rather than an actual bath. Dean is so tired, he resembles an octopus missing half its limbs; gripping and leaning and holding tight to Cas while the elfling soaps him up and wipes him down. By the time they're done, Castiel is soaked to the bone and Dean is shivering in his towel.

Cas dries off his charge quickly and efficiently, setting him down on the nearby bench before the elfling realizes he cannot go into the bedroom to fetch a new Dean-sized sleep shift.

Mostly because his own is dripping and transparent.

Cas's embarrassed blush is immediate, and as a result, so is Dean's interest. The child seems to perk up and goes so far as to check under his own towel to make sure he's certain of what's there before curiously eyeing what has, at this point, been covered. Dean slumps against the wall in disappointment.

With the way he settles and after a few moments seems to doze, Castiel decides it's safe to try and dry himself. Properly.

"Hey, you're just like me."

Castiel whirls around, pulling his towel tightly against his hips. He’s bent forward, baby blues wide and cheeks stained an embarrassed red as blood rushes so loudly in his ears it drowns out even the pounding of his heart. From his seated position, Dean’s toes tap on the floor sluggishly. His smile is steeped in drowsiness.

Castiel is too terrified to move.

Once an elf’s mind has fully matured, they do not reveal their nakedness to anybody but their Lifepartner. Nudity is vulnerability; it is  _base_ , and leads to actions only meant for procreating. Filthy actions. Actions meant for bonded lovers only. And yet… when Dean stumbles up to him, bare and all tired-bright eyes, there is nothing but innocent curiosity; only the warmth of a small hand on the area over Castiel’s heart. “Right, Cas?” Dean asks, thrilled at the prospect of sameness between them.

Swallowing thickly, Cas feels himself nod… despite the fact that, in his heart, the elfling knows it’s a lie. Elves and humans are so different they should exist in different universes. But instead of voicing this, Castiel sinks to his knees. If they are going to have this conversation, then they will be of a height. Skin is skin, and it wouldn’t hurt his human to learn that, at least on the outside, they are not so different.

But instead of observing his somewhat lanky body like Cas had been expecting, Dean makes a beeline for his chest. He pushes the towel aside to put his ear to the  _thumpthumpthumpthump_  of Castiel’s heart, paying no attention to the open towel or what it has revealed. “I knew it,” he smiles, curling his arms around Cas in a hug. The elfling’s heart melts. “I knew we were the same.”

Castiel bites his lip, fighting back a grin when Dean turns to yawn into his skin. “Alright, bed time,” Cas murmurs, pressing a kiss to Dean’s temple. He picks _Imlad_ up without a thought to propriety, cheeks and chest and heart too filled with warmth to make room for anything else. Holding his towel with one hand and his charge with the other, they go get dressed.

Dean is clothed first. Once he's in yet another comfortable sleep shift, Cas sends him to brush his teeth before pulling on a shift of his own. He checks Dean’s teeth before quickly washing his own pearly whites.

“Can you stay with me?” the eight year-old whispers, playing with Castiel’s fingers once he’s abed. “’M scared ‘m gonna throw up again.”

Cas does not dwell on how little he has to think about his answer.

He slips under the covers and immediately pulls Dean to his chest, as if the closer they are, the further away reality becomes.

“You smell real good,” Dean slurs tiredly. Cas smiles.

“Thank you.”

“C’n we do my braids again?”

“After you wake.”

“’Kay.” A sigh. “Good sleep, Cas.”

“Good sleep,  _mîl hûn_.”

 

~ * ~

 

“Castiel? Michael requests your presence.”

Sam, Dean, and Cas all look up from their meals; the former two with furrowed brows while the latter clenches his jaw. He gets up without a word.

His Winchesters follow.

With a look and shake of his head, Castiel manages to get both boys to sit down, though it's clear they're doing so only out of respect. Softly, Cas assures them he will send for Anna to accompany them during the rest of their meal.

"But Cas—"

"Dean."

Dean quiets. With a nod to both of them--there can be no hugs when Uriel is present--Castiel begins to walk towards what he rapidly begins to feel is his doom.

Michael's rooms are large and ostentatious, but Cas is brought beyond the receiving room and into Michael's own private quarters. This alone is cause for concern, and suddenly the elfling is aware of just how unpresentable he appears: his braids are sleep-mussed, his clothing is rumpled and haphazardly tied, and he had garlic for dinner.

Nonetheless, his brother receives him with just as much grace and respect as if he were put-together and fully-grown. He sits in his solar, pouring over a map and several large tomes when Castiel is announced, at which point the elfling is invited to sit. As soon as they make eye contact, the elder speaks

"Good evening, brother. I trust your meal has been to your tastes?"

"Yes, Michael," Castiel murmurs, bowing his head. "Thank you."

"I apologize for interrupting. I simply need to clear some urgent matters before I move on to others."

"I understand."

"Splendid. The Winchesters are well?"

"Yes, my lord."

"They don't give you too much trouble?"

"No, my lord. They are perfect gentlemen, through and through."

"Excellent. This is what I like to hear, Castiel."

Michael pauses for a moment, squinting at the paper to his right. "There was something I heard, earlier," he muses. "About little Dean falling ill? The night watch saw you and Gabriel running towards the steam pools."

Castiel blushes. "Oh—ah, yes," he stutters. "Dean was indeed ill. But perfectly alright, now. He had a terrible cough but for the most part, it has been remedied."

Michael purses his lips but nods, a smile soon blossoming over his face. He's very handsome, but Cas can't help thinking that there is something dangerous about it; like his brother knows a terrible secret and is biding his time until it's revealed.

"You speak very good English, Cas."

Castiel all but chokes.

He coughs on air as his brother raises an interested brow, observing his movements like a snake rather than an elf. Cas feels his blush darken and wishes he could hide somewhere quiet and safe. Michael is angry, and he is angry because of Castiel.

"Th-thank you, my lord."

"That was not a compliment."

It's bad enough Cas no longer has an accent when he speaks English, but to have forgotten his own tongue in a moment of crisis? Does Michael know about that? He obviously knows of his nickname, and the disdain with which he spat it certainly does not bode well.

"It is the language of Men, Castiel," Michael says dangerously. "Are you a man?"

"No."

"Then why have you been learning their language, rather than teaching your charges our own?"

"I..." Castiel slumps, shamed and embarrassed and clearly demonstrating his young age. "It was simpler. Sindarin is so... different compared to Westron. It made more sense—"

" _Made,_ " Michael says. "They are more than old enough to learn at this point, Castiel. And your  _name_!"

"Dean couldn't—the first word he spoke was 'Cas'!" Castiel protests. "He couldn't pronounce it—"

"And now?" Michael demands. "Tell me an eight year-old human cannot grasp something as simple as  _Cas-ti-el_!" Though Cas feels as if he's about to cry, he holds his head high, biting his lip to attempt to halt the blurring of his vision. Michael sighs. “You cannot continue to coddle them," he says. "When I brought them here—”

“For what other reason than to be loved?!" Cas cries. He is, vaguely, aware that arguing is possibly the worst course of action in this situation, but the elfling can't help himself. Can't his brother see how precious the Winchesters truly are? "Michael, they are children—”

“And growing older every day,” He agrees. “Castiel, you love them, I do not begrudge you this. For all their filth and primitiveness, I too can admit how charming they can be. But they are primitive beings, Castiel."

Cas bristles. "They are  _smart_ , Michael. They may develop differently, but they are smart and kind and—"

"Violent," Michael spits. "Aggressive. Unstable. I have given you great liberties with their education and I now see that it has been too much responsibility—"

"No—"

"...Clearly. We are to teach them civility, Castiel. Hugging and touching and kissing... what good does that do other than to shape Men into the self-absorbed monsters they become?"

"Not Dean," Castiel says firmly. "Nor Sam. If you could only see for yourself—"

"I see enough to make sound decisions for my people," Michael interrupts. "Castiel, I will not have them dependent on you. You are not their mother, or their father. You are not even their friend. You are their teacher and you are an elf." Cas flinches. "Tell me," his brother continues. "What of the quest for your One? No one has seen you even express an interest for a Lifepartner since I put you in charge of the humans. You will never find a mate if you do not look!”

“But Michael, I—”

“No buts. You are very lucky I am not giving your position to a teacher more worthy. Uriel would do nicely, wouldn't you agree?"

Cas clenches his jaw. “Yes, brother.”

Michael leans forward. "This is your last chance, Castiel. If you do not raise these boys the way I ask, I will find somebody else. Understood?"

A nod.

"Excellent. I expect a full report on your progress within the week."

With a stiff nod, Cas turns on his heel. His hands curl into fists.

“And Castiel?”

Cas stops.

“I never want to hear of you sharing a human's bed again, do you understand? Dean could be dying and you are not to lay with him.”

Castiel is certain his heart has broken. His entire chest cavity aches, like every mismatched shard is poking into his insides. His vision is so blurred Cas can only see the shape of his brother, sitting back with an expression of interested disgust, no doubt. But Castiel cannot control himself:  “Michael  _please_ ," he begs. "Dean was sick. He needed me!"

"He will not have you forever."

"But he has me now!" Cas cries. "Brother, see reason! Dean has nightmares constantly; dreams in which all his loved ones are taken from him. I need to be there for him. I need to be there for Sam—”

"I’ve heard of these dreams," Michael replies flippantly. "I’ve heard that you are in them."

Cas squeezes his eyes shut.

“Dean Winchester’s life is fleeting, Castiel. Perhaps it is time he learn to deal with loss.”

“He is a  _child_!"

“He is human. And you have raised him as such.”

“How has your opinion changed so quickly? He is my charge!”

"And my property!” The silence that follows that statement is deafening. “…Listen to me: there will be no more hugging. No more kissing. I need not inform you how you taint yourself with such free reign of your affections. Not to mention your emotions. Finding a Lifepartner will be very difficult.”

Castiel wraps his arms around himself. He wants to reverse time. He wants to steal the Winchesters away and never look back. Michael stands to offer a handkerchief, but the elfling refuses any help. Deliberately, he wipes his nose on his sleeve.

"You are excused."

Cas leaves.

He does not go back to his boys.

Instead, he finds himself knocking on Gabriel's door with two bottles of sweet wine and a blotchy, tear-stained face.

"Cas?"

" _Gabriel_."

He leaves, drunk and still upset, hours later.

It's dark when Castiel slips into the Winchester's room, both boys only lumps of softly breathing blankets on their beds. Even blindingly intoxicated, Cas is more graceful than any human could dare hope to be... though he is, admittedly, more clumsy than a full grown elf.

He stares at the lump of Sam Winchester.

Normally, he would have tucked Sam in and told him a story of the great elves of old before kissing his forehead and bidding him goodnight.

Reaching out, Cas curls his fingers back towards his fist before he can make contact, reminding himself that casual touching is no longer allowed: no hugs, no kisses, no nothing.

Castiel brings his fist to his mouth and bites.

He stumbles towards the bathroom without even looking at Dean.

Though the plan, originally, had been to use the shared space to get to his own room, Cas doesn't make it there. Instead, he crumples against one of the pretty stone walls and buries his head in his knees. He cries.

Castiel is so absorbed in self-pity that he doesn't hear his charge until  _Esseru_  touches his shoulder. His short arms wrap around Cas in an awkward but tight hug, and he presses a childish smack of a kiss to the elfling's temple. Castiel pulls Sam around until he's cradling him in his lap. They stay like that for a long time, long after Cas's sobs have tapered to less drunk sniffles.

And then Sam leaves.

He returns holding Dean’s hand.

The eldest Winchester looks half asleep, frowning in tired confusion. He moves to cuddle in Castiel’s lap. Sam smiles before fitting himself in the mass of limbs as well. “Dean always makes you feel better,” the four year-old murmurs sleepily. “It’s gonna be okay, Cas.”

Castiel squeezes his eyes shut.

His Winchesters are the best beings in the entirety of Creation.

 

~ * ~

 

“But that’s not fair!”

Cas bites his lip and tries to stay calm. When he woke, he was sleeping on the bathroom floor with two armfuls of human child. Not only is he sore from the tile on his back and bum, but he expressly ignored one of Michael’s orders. He needs to find a way to explain his elder’s new rules in a way Sam and Dean can understand.

So far, Castiel is failing miserably.

“ _Imlad_ , listen, please.”

“No! It’s not—it’s not—”Dean stomps around the room, stopping where Sam is curled up in bed, sniffling. “Look at what you did!” he exclaims. “You made him  _cry_.”

“Dean—”

“Why did you  _lie_?!”

“I didn’t, I promise—”

“Then why don’t you love us?!”

“ _Listen_ to me!”

Dean and Sam freeze. It isn’t often than Cas gets angry, and even then, he rarely raises his voice. But Castiel is, currently, at the end of his rope. He’s sore, he’s tired, and he feels like he’s about to cry at any moment. His boys need to listen. Now.

“Nothing has changed,” he tells them fiercely. “Do you understand?  _Nothing_. I love you more than I did yesterday and more than the day before. Every day, the warmth I feel for you both grows and grows, and Michael cannot change that. But, things between us need to shift. If we want to see each other every day, I can no longer be so demonstrative with my affections.”

Sam raises his hand.

“Yes, Sam?”

“What’s de-demonst—”

“Demonstrative means to demonstrate something, or to show it off. I can no longer show you, in touch and kisses and hugs, how much I care for you. At least, not in front of the others.”

“But you already do that,” Dean grumbles.

Cas gives Dean a sharp look. “I need to limit myself further. Michael will be watching me, and you can believe that he will most definitely send patrols to ensure that our sleeping arrangement stays separate. He says we’re no longer allowed to share beds.”

Green eyes widen. “But what about my bad dream?! What if I throw up again?! What if I get sick or—!”

“ _Listen_!”

Dean quiets.

“We will figure out an alternative—something different that Michael cannot fault me for,” Castiel assures. “I will not leave you. Either of you. Not if you’re sick or hurting or scared. I will  _never_ leave you. But,” he sighs. “We have to keep everything even more of a secret than before.”

“…Like a spy game?” Sam hiccups, wiping at his tear-stained cheeks.

Cas nods. He steps forward to replace  _Esseru_ ’s hands with his own sleeves. “Exactly like a spy game, master Sam.”

“So, what are the rules?”

Castiel turns to Dean to answer his question, and what he sees upsets him.  _Imlad_ ’s green eyes are serious and determined, his back straight as he listens intently. He looks disturbingly older than eight-years-old, and Cas hates it. He licks his lips wearily.

“Names, to start with…”

They hatch a plan.

 

~ * ~

 

Unbeknownst to Castiel, the Winchesters come up with a plan of their own. They discuss the details late at night until, three days after Michael’s summoning, it’s put into action:

Sam is dragging Cas through the library to find an appropriate bedtime story, chatting away and skipping through the shelves while Dean falls further and further behind. Eventually, he manages to slip away unnoticed. Once outside the library, he runs.

He reaches Michael’s rooms completely out of breath, only barely managing to ask for an audience with his broken Sindarin. He is shown to the solar minutes later.

Dean quickly realizes that Michael is ten times more intimidating without Cas by his side. The human stands tall, however, refusing to show weakness. This elf is like the dragon that took away his Ma and Da… it won't take his Cas, too.

“ _Hîr vuin_ ,” Dean murmurs, inclining his head downwards as is customary.

“Rise, please.”

As if testing him, the high elf stays quiet for a long time. But Dean has been to several of the audiences between Michael and Cas, and he follows all the rules: look at your elder but do not challenge them, keep your head slightly bowed, hands by your sides, do not speak unless spoken to. “ _Imlad_ ,” Michael finally smiles. “What a pleasant surprise. I’m told Castiel is unaware of this audience.”

A nod. “ _Ná_ ,  _hîr vuin_. ”

Michael’s smile widens. “What is so important that you cannot tell your guardian?”

Here, Dean falters. His limited knowledge of Sindarin is not nearly enough to express what he needs to properly. It takes everything for him not to fidget, but eventually, Dean figures out how to respond. “May I have your permission to speak in English,  _hîr vuin_?”

“Seeing as you already are, I suppose you’ve given yourself permission,  _Imlad_.”

“ _Goheno nin, hîr vuin_. ”

Michael waves his hand, clearly intrigued. “Continue, please.”

“I…” Dean swallows. “I would like to request that the… rules you gave Castiel be taken away,” he says, shaky with his choice of words. “Cas is upset a-and so is my brother and so am I. We’re not hurting anybody—”

“But you are,  _Imlad_ ,” Michael says reasonably. “You’re hurting Castiel.  _Cas-ti-el_ , boy. That is his name. Not a bastardized half version of it.”

“I-I’m sorry—”

“As you should be,” Michael nods. “The fact that Castiel is so open with his affections around you is something that ostracizes him in elvish society. No doubt he didn’t think to explain  _this_  to you of all the inappropriate information he has shared, but understand this well: you taint him, Dean Winchester. And there is a very good chance that due to  _your_  inability to keep your distance, Castiel will never find a mate.”

Dean feels like he can’t breathe. His breath comes in short spurts, vision blurring as he bites his lip to hold in a sob. Michael stands.

“You are excused,  _Imlad_.”

Dean runs to his bed.

He collapses on top of the mattress with a broken sob, curling into his blankets and pillows until he’s dried up and cracked. It feels like forever before Cas is in the room and talking at him, but Dean doesn’t care. He can’t let himself care. He ruined his best friend’s life.

Cas, meanwhile, is freaking out.

He managed to pry Dean’s whereabouts from Sam’s lips, but by the time he’d arrived at Michael’s rooms, his brother told him that Dean had run away crying. Castiel had looked everywhere.

He sits on the bed with his charge now, motioning for Sam to get a cool towel before trying to coax  _Imlad_ back to himself. He leans forward, whispering sweet words in Dean’s hair until he’s relaxed some. Looking around to be sure there are no witnesses, Cas then leans forward for a hug.

Dean pushes him away.

“Stop it!”

Cas freezes. From the bathroom doorway, Sam drops the wet cloth.

Dean presses his face into his pillow. “Why didn’t you tell me I was ruining you?!”

And Castiel understands. He grits his teeth, cursing his brother to Mordor and back as he forcefully grabs Dean by the waist, hugging the life out of him and uncaring of who sees. Dean struggles to push him off: “Stop it—stop! It’s _ruining_  you—!”

Turning his  _Imlad_ in his arms, Cas presses kisses all over his face. “Don’t,” kiss, “you”, kiss, “ _ever_ ”, kiss, “listen,” kiss, “to a  _word_ ,” kiss, “my brother says.” Kissing Dean’s cheek softly, Castiel moves to nuzzle their noses. “You make me better,  _mîl hûn_. In every way.”

“But your Lifepartner—”

“Not important.”

“But—”

“ _Not_ important.”

Dean picks at a loose thread on his shirt. He tries valiantly to hide his slowing growing smile.

“Look at me,” Cas grins back. He laughs: “ _Dean_.”

Green eyes meet blue.

“Any elf that cannot accept that fact that I love you is not worth my time, and that does not make me weak, or ruin me, or taint me in any way. Being different does not equate to being wrong, no matter what Michael may think.”

“Yeah, Dean!” Sam exclaims. He runs and jumps onto the bed, flinging the damp cloth at his brother’s face. Dean sputters. “Michael’s just being a meanie ‘cause  _he_  doesn’t get enough hugs.”

“Exactly,” Cas laughs. “Now let’s wipe the tears from our eyes and put on brave faces. Good rangers are born of hardship.”

While Sam skips off to the bathroom for another wet cloth, Dean holds Castiel’s hand. “Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel squeezes their fingers. In the back of his mind, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Gabriel buzzes words of love and devotion. He ignores them.

“It’s my absolute honour, Dean.”

~ * ~

 _Imlad_ = Dean  
_Esseru_ = Sam


	6. Let Them Eat Sweetcake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean celebrates his twelfth Name Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, glossary at the bottom and hover for immediate translation!

When Dean is eleven years old, he can speak Sindarin as if he were born _edhellen_. Of course, there are certain words that Castiel would prefer Dean not know: insults and curses that Gabriel teaches both Winchesters delightedly—but for the most part, his boys are perfect gentlemen.

All this being said, there are still gaps in their education.

“Have you taught him _Mel_ _Ubed_? ”

Cas looks up from where he’s folding dress robes to give Gabriel an exasperated look. He doesn’t know why his brother insists on watching him fold laundry, but apparently the act is fascinating. He only hopes he will go fetch Dean and Sam from where they’re studying with Anna in time to have their lesson in healing. “ _Esseru_ is far too young for that, don’t you think?”

Gabriel rolls his eyes, but Cas does not react. Instead, he continues to feign ignorance while reaching for another robe and tries, for the thousandth time, to get used to the lack of Winchester presence. It’s been years since most of Dean’s lessons have been delegated to Anael and Gabriel, and Cas adjusted begrudgingly, but this is only the second week of Sam’s absence. Michael’s reasoning was to give Castiel time to complete his chores, continue with his lessons and begin thinking of his Lifepartner—for whom he needs to begin searching in a short nine years—but the elfling misses his family. Cas has no interest in the willowy, graceful physiques of his peers when he could be hugging Dean’s body; lanky with pre-pubescence, or Sam’s rapidly growing one.

With a scoff, Gabriel snatches the laundry out of his brother’s hand. “You’re avoiding the question.”

Castiel sighs. “I am _answering_ your inane question, Gabriel,” he says patiently. “Let me continue with my work.”

“ _Of course_ ,” Gabriel replies. Sarcasm is so prominent in his voice; Cas wonders how he doesn’t choke on his words. “I want you to teach an _eight-year-old_ the Language of Love. Be serious.”

“This conversation serves no purpose, Gabriel.”

“Because it’s not what you want to hear?”

Cas grits his teeth. “No.” In an attempt to shake the other elf off, he moves his basket to the nearest table and sets himself up there. Gabriel follows.

“Then why not? You know of whom I speak.”

“I do, and Dean is just as human and just as young. There is time enough for all that.”

“He’s of age, Castiel.”

“He’s also not ready.”

Gabriel snorts. “He looks ready to me. He looks ready every time he looks at _you_ —”

“Enough!” In a fit of discomfited frustration, Castiel lifts the basket only to slam it down on the tabletop. His fingers are white in their grip on the wicker and he exhales shakily, blue eyes stern. “Dean does not need to be thinking about finding a mate. He is still a child and he is my responsibility. Worrying for his wellbeing does not mean that I am in love with him!”

“In this case—”

“ _No_.” Cas takes a deep, calming breath. “Dean doesn’t know what love is Gabriel, much less what romantic attachment entails. When he’s older…”

To Castiel’s further frustration, his brother’s expression turns pitying. “Older when?” the other elf asks quietly.

“When he asks me.”

Gabriel leaves shortly after that.

Castiel finishes his chores before going to tend to his garden, pulling on his powder blue cloak for winter. It’s January, and oddly cold in _Imladris_ during this time of year, so the elfling bundles up. He lifts his hood up to cover his head before scurrying down towards his garden.

It’s nothing much: a small patch of land Michael had afforded him when the Winchesters were younger. They’d both been very excited at the prospect of being helpful and growing their own food, and so had spent an entire day working the soil and preparing it for seeding.

As Cas would come to learn, however: children grow bored of things extremely quickly. Now, Castiel is the sole caretaker of the plot, though he’ll enlist his boys for harvesting and planting.

He makes his way outside, walking the short distance to his garden before kneeling in the earth, palms and fingers running over every inch of organic matter despite the fact that he need not physically touch. With very little effort at this point, he mends and cares for each plant in the way they require—from moisture to dryness to food, Castiel provides.

The elfling’s hands are covered in dirt as he traces his fingers across a group of pansy flowers, the humanity of the action not lost on him as he recalls their birth with a little smile. He’d drained himself to the point of sickness that day, pushing his own life force into the Earth in order to cheer up his Winchesters. Dean in particular had been upset, though Castiel can’t remember why; the child’s frown had dissipated into a smile of absolute awe the minute the flower had sprouted from the ground.

Presently, Cas infuses love and warmth into each petal he touches, calling water from deep within the ground to soak each pansy’s roots. He’s completely absorbed in his task when the skipping of ungraceful human feet ring out from the nearby walkway.

“It’s your name day! It’s your name day! It’s your name day, Deeeaaaannnn!”

Though Sam is often irresistibly adorable regardless, Castiel finds curbing his smile a literal impossibility. He listens with a huffed laugh as the steps continue, soon turning into an odd sort of dance to accompany the child’s made-up song. Just by the footfalls, Cas can tell Dean is shuffling along behind, Anna slowing her gait in order to keep time with him. With mild surprise, Castiel realizes their lessons must be over.

“Why do you guys never celebrate name days?”

It’s Dean who asks the question, and with a start, Cas realizes that today is indeed the 24th. Not that they’ve ever done anything formal for it… Michael had made it very clear the first time Cas had gone to him with the request to celebrate the occasion; Dean and Sam were not to be given special treatment because they were of a different species. Elves celebrate their hundredth name days because that is when an elfling is biologically and mentally grown, but nothing in between is acknowledged with any sort of formal festivity. Dean has not had a name day celebration in seven years, and Sam… Sam has never celebrated the day of his birth.

"As we live so long, we have no need for them, _Imlad_. It is not a feat to live until 500 when you are an elf."

Dean frowns. “Oh. But humans don’t?”

For the first time in his existence, Castiel hears Anna’s voice falter. She shuffles a step instead of walking assuredly, stopping completely only ten paces from the garden. Cas holds his breath. “ _Imlad_ ,” she says softly. “Humans live quickly and deeply. Your kind feels to a degree mine cannot.”

“So, how long do we live?”

“ _Imlad_ …”

“How long, Anael? Please.”

Another pause.

“There was a time when a man could live to see four hundred,” she murmurs. “But in these times… I have never heard of a human having more than one hundred name days.”

Cas can almost feel Dean’s slump. “But Cas,” the eleven year-old says glumly. “He’ll live forever?”

“He will.”

Carefully, Castiel looks up from his hood, his heart turned to ice in his chest as he keeps his fists clenched at his side. He can’t go to Dean because they are outside. He can’t hug Dean, or kiss him, or comfort him in any way. Even holding his hand would be a violation of Michael’s rules and Castiel cannot afford to rebel so openly.

But, it seems, Anna has.

She has kneeled, their foreheads pressed together as she whispers things too soft for Cas to hear. It’s wonderful, because Dean needs comfort and deserves it, but at the same time… it _hurts_.  It stings, like needles pierced right into his heart because _Anna_ calms Dean down. There is something that makes him so upset to know that _she_ can be affectionate with his charge when he is not permitted to do so. Dean is Castiel’s _best friend_ and he can’t even…

“Come,” Anael says finally, standing up as stoic as ever.

Dean wipes at his eyes and follows her.

Castiel purposefully does not go to meet them, because he has a plan. Wrapping his cloak tightly around himself, the elfling slinks to the main hall, using one of the shortcuts to get to the kitchens. Upon arriving, he is unsurprised to see that the place is bustling with activity, fruits and vegetables and lean meats being cleaned and cut and cooked into healthy, simple dishes. But Cas is not interested in anything green.

He makes a beeline for the elf stirring a spiced broth. “Hannah?”

“Castiel!”

Hannah spins around quickly and gracefully, her pale cheeks coloured pink and blue eyes as bright as her smile. She’s pretty and intelligent, and the youngest elf to ever be handed the responsibility of running the kitchens. Though they haven’t spoken much, Cas hopes the fact that she seems to find him attractive will work in his favour.

“Are you well? I hope you’re well. I was simply… I was passing by, and very suddenly—a-and oddly—I had a craving for sweetcake. I was wondering if perhaps I could commandeer a corner of your countertop to bake.”

She frowns. “Sweetcake? In the middle of winter?”

Cas smiles nervously. “I did say odd, didn’t I? Very odd. I can only assume the odd cravings are due to my… my raging hormones as an elfling so close to adulthood.”

He rocks back on his heels nervously, a tick picked up from Sam as he attempts to look as adorable and helpless as possible.

“I could make you one,” she finally replies. “After the supper service, I could deliver it—”

“No!” Hannah looks startled at Cas’s outburst, and the elfling smiles sheepishly. “I just—I’d prefer to do it myself. I could follow a recipe—”

“Castiel, we are in the middle of preparing supper—”

“I know,” Cas says, clearly lamenting his mysterious craving. “I’m sorry. I simply… Hannah, I feel as if I’ll faint if I don’t procure some sweetcake immediately, but I don’t want to be a bother. One corner, that’s all I ask. Please?”

Hannah considers him for a moment and Castiel makes his eyes as saddened and distressed as he possibly can. With a bitten lip, she finally nods her assent. “One corner,” she smiles, cheeks still pink. “I’ll fetch the recipe.”

“Oh, and Hannah—”

Castiel has no idea what possess him to do so, but the moment his lips touch Hannah’s cheek, he knows it’s a mistake. The other elf turns bright red, her smile turning to something soft and sweet shy as she squeezes his hand before walking away.

Cas, for some inexplicable reason, is left devastated.

He feels as if he’s betrayed his own biology, as if a hole has opened up in the pit of is stomach and is slowly devouring everything he is and claims to be. He feels as if he has betrayed Michael and Anna and Gabriel and… the Winchesters. Sam.

Castiel feels nauseous and closes his eyes, wiping his lips on his sleeves in the misguided hope it will make things better. When Hannah returns to show him his workstation, where to find ingredients, and gives him the recipe, she stumbles and blushes and Cas feels as if he’s betrayed her, too. He manages a wan smile in return, not anticipating the brush of fingers that occurs immediately after. It suddenly becomes painfully obvious that the small touch is meant to be a comfort, and Cas recoils inside himself.

_He kissed Hannah’s cheek._

Elves do not share physical affection as cavalierly as humans do. They do not touch _at all_ unless there is the guarantee of a Bond. The fact that Castiel forgot himself; that he simply leaned in to kiss Hannah as he would Sam or Dean—is unacceptable. It means that Cas is losing his very nature, that he’s changing… and while it’s alright to set himself apart as a rebel in terms of physical contact, it is _not_ alright to put others in the path of Michael’s ire.

All at once, Castiel is certain he is going to vomit.

Because not only did he put Hannah in danger by kissing her so openly, he could have just ruined her prospects of finding a Lifepartner. Because if Cas is certain of one thing in this mess, it is that he does _not_ love Hannah in the way a Bond requires. His chest is already full. There is no _space_ for whatever he’s supposed to feel.

The fact that he’s broken does not give him the right to break anyone else.

“Do you have enough sugar?”

Castiel starts from his thoughts, wiping his suddenly sweaty palms on his robe. He forces another smile. “Oh—um, yes, I think so. Thank you, Hannah.”

Hannah’s hand brushes his against and Cas almost jumps out of his skin. And right around the moment he realizes, well and truly, that he will never have a Lifepartner, he wonders why he has to be broken to begin with. Because Castiel doesn’t know how, but he knows he’ll never find his elf. He knows that fact will only disappoint his family. He could teach himself to love Hannah, perhaps. Perhaps one day he could even love her like he loves the Winchesters.

The next time she comes around, Cas arranges his smile into something more natural. He can trick himself into feeling the things he’s supposed to. He knows he can.

~ * ~

Making sweetcakes turns out to be much more complicated than Castiel had initially anticipated. Where he thought it might take an hour or two, the complicated recipe has Cas in the kitchen for double that time.

Currently, he sits at a spotless counter with Hannah, both quietly eating their dinners while the cakes bake. She's sitting so close their bodies are touching, and Cas forces himself not to pull away. The fact that he is not yet grown holds no bearing on how much contact is allowed between Lifepartners, but even still, Castiel thinks the amount of touch Hannah initiates is odd for the century and a half separating them. Perhaps it's the closeness in age that makes her bold.

Or, perhaps, she is just as broken as he is.

As soon as the sweetcakes have baked and cooled, Hannah puts them in a basket for Castiel to carry. There are six, and Cas needs to set Dean's apart. Thinking quickly, he asks Hannah for powered sugar to decorate them despite knowing he used the last of it.

While Hannah sets off to look, Castiel grabs the almond paste. He writes _Happy Name Day, Dean_ in tiny letters on the flat top of the pastry, fingers shaking with the stress of too little time. Only a handful of precious seconds before Hannah emerges from the pantry, he slips the jar and brush back into place.

"None left? That's alright, I'll manage."

Castiel is walked to the kitchen door. He stops before exiting, wringing his hands on the handle of the basket as he clears his throat. "Thank you, Hannah. I—"

But her fingers are pressed to his lips. With a racing heart, Cas feels his stomach sink. She is going to kiss him. Properly. But... if that is truly the case, why is her expression soft and sad? "We shall pretend it never happened," she murmurs. "Wish your Dean a happy name day on my behalf."

Cas frowns. "Hannah, I don't—"

"We are not _meleth_ , Castiel. Though you may be my _melethron_ , I am not..." She bites her lip. "It was nice to pretend, if only for a short time." Her fingers move to brush along his jaw. "But you do not love me."

"Hannah, please, I can—"

"Why do you fight for something you do not want?" Unsure and confused, Castiel remains silent. "Castiel?" the elf asks. " _Cas_ , love is such a precious, rare thing in this world, no matter who it is between. Do not discard it for anything; protect it, with everything you have."

He swallows thickly. "I don't understand." 

"You will," she assures quietly. "You are not broken, Castiel."

Biting his lip, Cas blinks rapidly to dispel his sudden blurred vision. He takes a shaky breath before nodding and setting his shoulders. "Thank you."

"Go to your humans," Hannah smiles. "I'm certain they worry at your absence."

Castiel's lips quirk up in response. He quickly throws his arms around the other elf in quick hug, wiping at his eyes and nodding to her once again before stepping over the threshold. He pauses. “How did you know?”

Hannah’s smile, though warm, is cracked at the edges with sadness and pity. She feels _sorry_ for him. “From your first greeting, you spoke only English.”

Cas feels sick all over again.

He didn’t even _notice_.

He thanks Hannah yet again, handing her a cake and taking off towards the direction of the Winchesters’ chambers. As odd as it sounds, Castiel wants only to bury himself in the hugs and kisses of his boys and forget the entire evening happened. He is merely speaking in the human tongue because he has become accustomed. Nothing is wrong with him. He does not warrant pity.

Pushing open the door, Cas slips into the Winchesters’ bedroom as silently as possible. He pads into view just in time to hear Sam, all tucked into bed, speaking with Anna. “Is Cas gonna come say goodnight, at least?”

The soft, worried question all but stops the elfling in his tracks, his chest warming at the thought of being missed. Still in the dark, he’s about to step forward when the eldest Winchester suddenly bolts upright, surveying the room before running in his direction. “Cas!” He stops just short of touching distance, instead waving somewhat awkwardly. “Hi.”

“Hello, Dean.”

They stand there for a few moments before Sam zooms past his brother and all but knocks Castiel off his feet, breaking the touch barrier almost immediately. "Where did you go?!" he demands, brows scrunched in concern. "We were so scared that something bad happened and Anna checked and nobody sawed you and then Dean said you were probably with Michael but I didn't thinked so but then Dean said you _were_ and what if something bad happened like Michael sawed you kissing him and that it was all his fault and he probably killed you just like the dragon and Ma and then he was real sad and me too even when Anna said you were all okay _but_ —" He takes a deep breath here, burying his face into Castiel's stomach. "I'm just real glad you're okay. Dean was crying."

Face bright red with embarrassment, Dean thumps his brother harshly on the back. "I was _not_ ," he hisses.

"Ow! _Quit it_!"

"Then stop _lying_!"

"I _wasn't_ ," Sam growls. "You were crying like giant girl!"

"Shut _up_!" Dean seethes.

"ENOUGH!"

Both boys freeze before their guardian, looking sheepish. While Sam twists his fists into Cas's clothing, eyes big and tear-filled at getting yelled at, Dean has a solid red complexion. He twitches like he's beyond mortified, biting his lip and keeping his gaze focused firmly on the floor. "Sam, was it necessary to compare your brother to a girl?"

"No," Sam mumbles. His cheeks tinge pink.

"No," Castiel echoes. "Tell me, do you think Anna is weak?"

"No." A frown. "She goes and fights monsters. She's strong."

"She is, isn't she?" Cas muses. "But she's a girl. She cries. Does that erase the fact that she fights monster and make her weak?"

Sam bites his lip and looks to the floor. "...No."

"Good answer," Cas says. "Go apologize to Anna for using 'girl' as an insult, please. I never want to hear it come from your mouth again."

He watches Sam scurry off with his tail between his legs, raising an unimpressed brow at Dean when the other boy smirks triumphantly. "Are you proud of hitting you brother like a barbarian Dean?" Castiel asks rhetorically. "Is that why you're smirking?"

Dean immediately ducks his head. "No," he mumbles, chastened.

"I did not raise you to hit, and I certainly did not raise you to tell _anyone_ to 'shut up', especially not Sam. Go apologize." Dean turns away.

Castiel is supervising the interaction between his charges, fingers massaging his temples, when Anna sidles up next to him. "He was very worried for you, you know," she says quietly. "Your Dean; inconsolable from the moment he had the idea you might be dead."

Cas nods tersely, gritting his teeth. He hates disciplining his boys, especially on the heels of them being so upset, but you don't hit and call names. "He has recurring nightmares in which his loved ones are killed."

Anna purses her lips. “Perhaps this is inappropriate,” she offers, “but as it’s _Imlad_ 's name day—”

"I know when his name day is," Cas says indignantly. "I went to make sweetcake!"

All at once, Anna's gaze turns hopelessly warm. "Oh, Castiel," she sighs, bringing him in for a human hug. "You take on so much I often forget you're still a child yourself."

It's the first time they've ever been so physically close, and Cas revels in it. He buries his face into her neck, lanky arms wrapping around her shoulders tightly as she rubs his back. Her voice is like summer against his skin: "You're so good," she breathes. "I am in awe of your patience and kindness. But perhaps this time, all Imlad really needs is his Castiel."

"He used violence against his brother, Anna."

"He was embarrassed to be caught needing you," she retorts. "He's growing older, _honeg_... Remember that with that comes independence. He will no longer need you as he once did."

Cas squeezes his eyes shut. "I know."

With a playful tug of his robe, Anna pulls away to rest their foreheads together. “I was wrong about affection,” she murmurs with a smile. “It’s wonderful, even outside the Bond. Now come, we’ll eat sweetcake, drink sparkling wine, and Gabriel can keep watch at the door.

Cas huffs a laugh but nods his head, unaware he’d been crying until Anna wipes at his eyes. “Castiel… _nîn honeg_ ,” she whispers. “How you’ve grown.”

Cas gives a close-lipped smile and nods his head, quickly re-shouldering the weight of responsibility. And when he turns… his Winchesters are waiting for him.

Two sets of arms immediately wrap around his torso, both boys cuddling like their lives depend on it. Sam reaches out to drag Anna back into the group and she wraps around her brother from behind, chin resting on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Sam murmurs.

“Me too,” Dean quavers. “I’m so so sorry.”

“Boys—Sam, Dean—I’m fine. I’m alright, I assure you.”

But neither Winchester is convinced. “You can cry if you need to,” the youngest assures. “It’s okay.”

“Sam—”

“It’s just like what you said with Anna: it doesn’t make you weak—”

“ _Sam_ —”

“—Cas, I’m sorry, please forgive me. I never meant to hurt you, I never want to hurt you. Cas, I’m so _sorry_.”

That was Dean.

Castiel immediately sweeps down to eye-level with his eldest charge, holding his gaze unflinchingly for one intense moment before gathering him up in a hug. Dean clings to him as if he’s the only thing left to hold onto in the entire cosmos, whispering apologies into dark, soft hair while Cas breathes his own words into freckled skin. “No, Dean, don’t cry. Don’t cry… it’s alright. I’m fine, _mîl hûn_ , see? Look, I’m okay. You could never hurt me, Dean. Never. I was—it was a long day, that’s all. Shh, you’re okay. You’re okay, _mîl hûn._ You’re perfect.”

He pulls away then, wiping Dean’s face just as Anna had done for him moments before. “’M sorry,” the child mumbles again.

“For what?” Cas asks kindly. “Crying? We all cry, Dean. Just like we all laugh and yell and smile. You have nothing to be sorry for… unless you’re apologizing for hitting you brother.” The teasing falls flat. “ _Mîl hûn_? Tell me…”

“I g-got out of c-control.”

“It’s okay. It happens. We’ll get some water and everything will be alright. I’m sorry this had to happen on your name day.”

A frown. “Y-You remembered?”

“Something reminded me, yes,” Cas grins. “I was away all evening making sweetcakes.”

But instead of cheering him as Castiel anticipated, the elfling’s thoughtfulness only sends Dean back into a mess of tears. “Thank you,” he sniffles into Cas’s neck. “I’ll never make you sad again.”

“I know you won’t.”

But that’s not true. Cas can feel the lie deep within his chest, pricking something at the space where his Lifepartner should go as if gearing up for splintering pain. _I’ll never make you sad again._ _Lies_.

One day, Dean Winchester will break his heart.

~ * ~

Though there is no sparkling wine, Gabriel at one point does bound into the room. Of course, he chooses the moment they’ve begun to eat, rushing up to give Castiel a sloppy kiss on the cheek and ruffle Dean’s hair. Despite taking Anna quite a bit of time to become accustomed to human behaviour and interaction, Gabriel took to casual physical affection like a dragon to hoard.

He blows a raspberry at the back of Sam’s neck with a smirk. “What are we eating?”

“Yours is in the basket,” the youngest of them points out helpfully. “Cas made it just for you.”

“Did he?”

The mirth suddenly gone from his eyes, Gabriel raises a brow at his own little brother, pursing his lips when Castiel immediately looks away. “And did Cas make them for a certain special name day?”

Dean nods enthusiastically. “He’s the best,” he says sweetly, placing a hand on the elfling’s knee.

“Right, right… how many name days have you had now, Dean?” Gabriel muses. “…Three, seventeen, ninety-two?”

Sam shrieks with laughter. “No! He’s _twelve_.”

“Ah, but if he were _edhellen_ this would be his ninety-second. Say, didn’t you celebrate that last spring, Cas?"

Castiel looks at his brother sharply.

“Just sayin’,” Gabriel shrugs. “You guys are pretty close in age.”

“Shouldn’t you go stand watch?” Cas asks tightly. “I seem to recall Michael saying he’d send patrol _every_ night.”

“Hmm. Anna, what do you think—”

“ _Gabriel_.”

“Fine, geez. But I’m taking the contraband food with me.”

Gabriel manages to divert the patrol once it comes, and scampers back inside as soon as the coast is clear. It’s nice to have everyone together, though Dean is mostly quiet throughout. He stays by Castiel’s side and only barely participates in conversation, pushing his fingers through chocolate-coloured hair as Sam makes himself comfortable in his lap. Before long, the witching hour is long passed and the youngest Winchester is asleep.

Soon after, Anna and Gabriel depart as well.

Castiel helps Dean carry his brother to bed and they tuck him in together, moving to the bathroom in tandem to wash their teeth. They change separately now, Dean walking off to his own room with a mumble of: “I’m _twelve_ now,” before emerging sleep shift-clad moments later. There is an odd distance that comes with age, Cas is finding, and he’s not entirely sure he enjoys it. Nevertheless, he reaches into the chest at the end of his bed and meets Dean in the bathroom. “Are you decent?”

“Yeah.”

Dean blushes in the middle of the room, bare feet toeing the tiles shyly and cheeks painted light pink. The colour is just light enough to accentuate his freckles instead of drowning them, and Cas briefly wonders what has him so flustered. He then looks down to ensure there is nothing on his clothing or revealed skin for how Dean stares. 

“I… have a gift for you,” Castiel says awkwardly. “If that is something you’d accept from me.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “Oh—no, Cas, you don’t hafta give me anything. I’m so happy for… for the party and the cakes, I don’t need—”

It’s with an oddly trembling hand that Cas extends his small gift, bringing forth Dean’s palm to drop the trinket into it. Though their gaze never wavers—blue to green, green to blue—Dean’s eyes widen when he feels light metal against his skin. He gasps upon seeing the brooch. “Cas, I can’t—”

“I hope you will, regardless.” Castiel’s voice is soft. “It… belonged to my mother once; my _naneth._ She was a beautiful, kind woman.” A pause. “It kept her safe on long journeys, and it is for this very reason I give it to you now.”

Dean frowns. “But…”

“Take it,” Cas whispers. “Think of me when you wear it, and wear it often. It’s _mithril_ ; pretty as silver and stronger than steel, from _Lothlórien._ The leaf shape is meant to signify the Silvan elves as a whole, but I always enjoyed the idea that it was crafted in _Lothlórien_ , symbolized _Eryn Lasgalen_ , and I wear it, here, in _Imladris_.” Carefully undoing the clasp, Castiel pins the brooch to the front of Dean’s sleep shift. Standing tall, facing forward… he appears regal.

“You look every inch _edhellen_ ,” Cas whispers.

Cheeks flaming more red than before, Dean sets his shoulders, solidifying his stance. “Good.”

“Good?”

“Yeah.” He fidgets in place under the scrutiny, carefully reaching up to brush the pointed shell of Cas’s ear. “ _You’re_ _edhellen._ ”

Castiel feels as if his entire chest is going to explode. He is so suddenly full of love and warmth that it’s all he can do to answer in short, quick sentences. “I am at that. And _you_ ,” he deflects. “Are overdue for a good night’s sleep.”

Dean groans but follows obediently, grumbling all the way back and into his bed. Castiel sits at the edge to tuck him in, but that is as far as he allows himself to go—as far as he has been allowed for years. Leaning down, he presses a kiss to Dean’s forehead. “Goodnight, _mîl hûn._ Happy Name Day.”

Castiel begins to stand when there’s a tug at his arm. “Hey, Cas?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

Cas smiles softly, re-settling himself. His hand pushes through sandy-brown hair. “I love you, too.”

“To the ends of this Earth?” Dean teases tiredly.

Cas presses another gentle kiss to his forehead. “And the next.”

A smile. A sigh.

Indulging himself one last time, Castiel nuzzles their noses and heads off to bed.

 

* * *

 

SOMEBODY MADE FANART! This piece is by [judecas](http://judecas.tumblr.com/)... thank you so so much!!

[ ](http://s38.photobucket.com/user/Alex_Xanthoudakis/media/tumblr_nkk9uauj6y1smkdfyo1_500_zpsbtjz1xp3.jpg.html)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Imlad_ = Dean  
>  _Esseru_ = Sam  
>  _Mîl hûn_ = Kind Heart


	7. The First Filament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is an argument, a consequence, and a filament.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, glossary at the bottom and hover for immediate translation!

“I hate you! You’re an elf, you’ll never understand!”

Dean is thirteen when the distance between he and Cas grows from a crack to a chasm.

_I hate you._

Castiel stands in the aftermath of each yelled word and has no idea what to do. He doesn't know what he _can_ do, mostly because... he loves Dean _so much_. So he stands, dumbstruck. Horrified. Wholly and completely heartbroken because he was not prepared for this: disagreements, yes, but hatred?

"Go away!" Dean yells, turning away.

"Dean..." Castiel has no idea what he's doing, only that he's grasping at straws, carefully reaching out to bridge the gap between them because otherwise they'll fall.

"Go _away_!"

But instead the comfort he craves, Dean slaps his hand away.

"You're not my dad! We're the same age, isn't that what everybody says? We're the same! Well we're _not_!" Shoving at Cas's chest, the elfling stumbles back. "You're not my parents. You're not human and you're definitely not my _friend_. You don't know _anything_ , Castiel. So go AWAY!"

Cas goes.

He runs out of the library as if his life depends on it, tripping over his own feet in his haste to move. He is hurt and confused and he feels like he can't breathe; like his lungs are collapsing and there’s sand in his mouth. Tear-blurred vision makes for very poor eyesight, but somehow, Castiel manages to get himself to the closest of his siblings' rooms. It’s well past dark, but the fact that Anna may be winding down with her _melethron_ escapes his mind completely as he throws himself at the door, banging on the wooden slab with everything he is. "Anna, Anna, please," he sobs. "It's me. Please open up it's _me_!"

Cas falls into his sister's arms moments later.

There is nothing but thunder in his ears as Anael carefully leads him into the room, and Castiel has no idea how it happens, but suddenly he and his sister are cuddled in her bed, hands stroking through his hair and wiping at his cheeks. Cas can feel how tense she is under her thin sleep shift, but can’t bring himself to feel worried or embarrassed. He is exhausted and inconsolable.

 _I hate you_.

Dean’s words echo hollowly in his chest until he can feel nothing but soul-crushing emptiness.

The fingers carding through his hair are doing so freely, and it’s with an odd sense of detachment that Cas realizes Anna must have undone his braids. He doesn’t find this knowledge half as disturbing as he should, however; a fact that only upsets him further.

_You’re an elf, you’ll never understand!_

_It is the language of Men, Castiel. Are you a man?_

He is nothing. Stuck in the in-between, Castiel is _nothing_.

Cas hiccups another sob, burying his face into his sister’s chest as she holds him more tightly. “Shh,” she soothes. “ _Honeg; beren, leich Castiel… ci maer._ Shh _, ni muin_ Castiel. _Ci maer_ , shh…”

Cas isn’t sure how long they stay like that—huddled together, but it’s long enough for loud, uncontrollable sobs to taper off into something pathetic and sad. Castiel’s fingers ache from how hard he’s been gripping Anna’s clothing and his eyes are sore from crying. He has never had cause to hate his pointed ears, but he does in that moment. _You’ll never understand! I hate you!_

Cas wants, more than anything, to know what he did wrong.

“ _Aew_?” Anna asks quietly; hesitantly in the heavy silence.  “ _Enni trenaril_ … _an ngell nîn.”_

Castiel squeezes his eyes shut until even in blackness, his vision swims with stars. Anna hasn’t used that nickname for him since they were children.

“Cas, please,” she tries again. “ _Gi melin rim, Aew_ …”

Cas hiccups again. “I…” he swallows, shaking his head. Anna presses soothing fingers to his scalp. “I am no elf,” he whispers. “I am no man. I am… _n_ - _nothing_.”

“ _Aew_ , you are _everything_ ,” Anna breathes in reply. Shifting them around, she cups her brother’s face in her hands gently, smoothing tears from his face as she presses a kiss to his forehead. “Did Michael make you think this? Because he is wrong, Castiel. Look at us. Look at _me_. If not for you, I would have never—” she cuts herself off. “You have showed me how wonderful loving freely truly is, _Aew_ ,” Anna murmurs, happy and sweet and soothing. “Being different does not make you nothing. It makes you different. Special. If not for you, I would have never known…” A pause. “Affection is not base, Castiel. Displaying affection is not base. It’s wonderful. _You_ showed me that. You are everything to me, _honeg_ , just as you are everything to your Winchesters.”

At the mention of his boys, Cas feels his eyes fill with tears yet again, their impossible blue turning vibrant as he looks down. “No.”

“No?” Anna asks. “No to what?”

“ _Everything_.” He pushes away then, suddenly and inexplicably angry. “Don’t you see?! I am ruining you! I have—I have a disease and I am spreading it. It’s wrong, it’s so wrong and D-Dean…. Dean…” With a wet hitch of breath, Cas dissolves into tears once more.

“Oh, _Aew_ …” Anna breathes. “What about Dean?”

“He said he _hated_ me,” Castiel cries. “H-He said we weren’t the same, and that I’m not his mother o-or father or family or friend. H-He told me to go away and he told me he _hated_ me!”

Saying it out loud forces another dagger into his heart and Cas feels himself breathing erratically, his chest heaving and vision spotting as he holds tight to Anna’s hands. “Cas,” she says sternly. “Castiel, calm down.”

“I-I…”

“He didn’t mean it, do you understand me?” Anna demands. “Look at me. Breathe deeply and evenly. You’re alright. Everything is fine. Dean is a child, he has no idea what he’s saying—”

“He is thirteen!” Cas wails.

“A _child_ ,” Anna retorts. “ _Breathe_ , Castiel.”

With great effort, Cas inhales slowly. Exhale. He feels sick. When he comes back to himself, he and Anael are curled up just as before. Her fingers trace the puffy skin under his eyes this time, their coolness soothing as she whispers comfort into space. “He didn’t mean it,” she breathes, moving to trace down to the tip of his nose. “He was angry and said it to hurt you, but he didn’t mean it.”

Castiel laughs humourlessly. “I disagree.”

“Why?”

“You didn’t see his face.”

Anna bites her lip. “ _Aew…_ ”

“He hates me,” Cas breathes through an aborted sob. “H-He was in the library looking through records a-and I went to get him for dinner. He got upset… I couldn’t tell what he was looking at, only that it was making him f-frustrated and a-angry, and then he started yelling about his parents and the dragon and h-he said these _things_ —these awful things.” Closing his eyes, Cas lets every inch of tension leak out from his body. “He hates me.”

“He doesn’t,” Anna assures him quietly. She resumes the stroking motion through his hair. “You’ll see, _Aew_. Dean Winchester loves you as deeply and thoroughly as he did yesterday, as he will continue to do for as long as he draws breath. He’s a child. He was angry and used that anger against the first person to cross his path. He doesn’t hate you.”

“But—”

“Anna? Have you seen…”

From the bed, both elfling and elf look towards the door, startled and surprised by Gabriel’s soft entrance. Even more surprising is the way the elder immediately acts his age, slipping into the room silently and with all the maturity of someone who has observed Middle Earth since its conception. “Castiel?”

Taking a leaf from Sam Winchester’s book, Cas reaches out a hand.

Gabriel fits into their huddle as if a space was already carved out for him. It’s awkward at first, especially because all three are unused to such open physical contact with each other, but Castiel’s sniffles lend an easy distraction. It’s with utmost tenderness that Gabriel speaks to his youngest brother, quietly asking if he’s alright. Cas is certain it’s the most subdued he’s ever been.

“Dean is a mess,” Gabriel says quietly. “He wouldn’t eat, and when I put him to bed, Sam crawled under the covers and refused to leave him. Apparently, he said some very mean, very angry things.”

Cas nods.

“You know he didn’t mean it, right?”

A shrug.

“ _Cas._ You gotta know he didn’t mean it.”

Castiel stays very still.

“Castiel, that kid loves you so much he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Anna, help me out here.”

“I’ve already said my piece,” she murmurs, brushing a strand of hair behind Cas’s pointed ear. “But I wholeheartedly agree with you, _Rusgion_.”

Gabriel tips his head back in a laugh. “You haven’t called me that since we were elflings.”

“Well, I find myself nostalgic recently.”

It’s surreal; being sandwiched between his siblings like they’re all children, whispering and cuddling in a corner hidden away from the world. The freedom here is incredible and immense, and Castiel relishes the closeness in a way he never has before. These people are part of his family. They care about him… they love him. It’s obvious in the way Anna shares stories about her day and Gabriel sweeps his hair into a loose up-do, exposing his neck to the blessed coolness of the room. It’s obvious in the way they send for food and remain cuddled together until they fall asleep.

But Anna and Gabriel do not know everything, despite thinking they do, and when Castiel wakes early to be there for his Winchesters, nothing has changed from the previous night.

“What’re _you_ doing here,” Dean growls, holding Sam close to his chest. _Esseru_ looks to be caught between cuddling with his brother and reaching out for his guardian, and Cas immediately looks away, nodding curtly; nervously. He feels as if he’s been doused with bucket of ice.

“I…I apologize,” he stutters. “I thought—”

“Well you thought wrong, Castiel.” With another glare, Dean climbs out of bed. “C’mon, Sam.”

Dean disappears into the bathroom, and Sam drags his feet behind, waiting until his brother is out of earshot before launching himself at Cas’s body. Castiel barely holds himself together, squeezing back and kissing the top of _Esseru_ ’s braided head. “It’s okay, Cas,” the child whispers. “He doesn’t mean it.”

Though Castiel doesn’t believe that for a minute, he puts on a brave face. “I know, Sam.”

“I’ll always want you, I promise.”

Cas’s heart melts. “Thank you,” he breathes, trying and failing at not getting teary-eyed.

“SAM!”

Castiel clears his throat and steps away first, motioning to the bathroom. Sam bites his lip and nods, scurrying off.

Dean continues this for five days.

Not that Cas could tell you; the elfling spends his days going through the motions of his chores and lessons while his mind is on Dean. Is he alright? Is he eating well? What caused him to act this way? Castiel is _worried_. He’s so worried, in fact, that he forgets to eat. And later, when it’s bedtime, there are far too many thoughts occupying his mind for sleep to even be considered a possibility.

Cas begins to spend his nights in the library.

He pours through the book Dean had been reading the evening he’d yelled, trying to look for something—anything—that would have upset his charge so terribly. He comes up empty every time.

Anna and Gabriel try to help, they do, but their idea of assistance is attempting to force-feed him bread and beans and salad, or trick him into taking a nap. It never works, and Cas quickly becomes annoyed with their efforts. He begins to hide himself away in abandoned rooms or hidden nooks. He never sees his boys.

The elfling is consciously skipping another archery lesson—heavy tome in his hands and feet stumbling towards the secret passageway he’d found years ago—when he begins to feel nauseous. Steadying himself against the nearest wall, Cas can’t resist the urge to vomit, his stomach contracting painfully as he collapses under the weight and effort of his own body, attempting to cough up food that hasn’t been there in days.

“Castiel? _Castiel_!”

The entire world is swallowed in black.

~ * ~

 

Thoroughly unconscious and therefore wholly unaware, Cas has no idea that it is Michael who takes him to the infirmary. They are immediately met by the Healers, and upon seeing his youngest brother in the arms of his elder, Gabriel rushes forward and begins asking questions. He does this more out of habit than necessity with Castiel, certain he knows the cause of this particular fainting spell, but one can never be too careful. “You’re sure there was no blood?” the Healer demands, reaching for his smelling salts.

“ _Yes_ ,” Michael hisses anxiously. “He was—he was doubled over and heaving and he just _collapsed_ , Gabriel. Right in front of me.”

“Good…” Gabriel mumbles to himself, almost shoving the damn salt up Cas’s nose. “Very good…”

With a cough and a gasp, Castiel wakes.

He’s hurled back to reality at a pace that leaves him disoriented and sick, his stomach roiling and cramping and his tongue like sandpaper in his mouth. Cas coughs until he gags, eagerly drinking from the cup placed at his lips. After one large gulp, it's taken away.

Castiel almost cries for how much he wants more.

His limbs feel heavy and wrong, and his vision is spotty and blurred as he tries to move, arms pressing him down to the cot. There's a rushing sound in his ears as the world turns to black once more.

"Gabriel, what happened?" Michael asks. He appears desperate; pacing the floor and tugging at the ends of his braids as he used to in adolescence. Eyes big and wide and worried, the High Elf only stops his walking to bend over his youngest brother, pushing damp hair back from his sweaty face.

Gabriel bites his lip. "He hasn't been eating, or drinking, or sleeping." Grabbing various bowls and a flask of lily water, the Healer gets to work.

"Why not?" Michael demands. "What could have possibly—"

"Would you _calm down_?"

"Gabriel, look at him!"

"I AM!" Turning towards his brother, Gabriel grabs another flask from his shelf. "And do you know what I see, _my lord_? A child you have  _broken_. I have no doubt that whatever happened between Dean and Castiel is somehow about you and your ridiculous rules, which makes this _your_ fault."

Michael scoffs. " _Me_? Dean Winchester—"

"Is so important to our brother that he forgot to take care of himself in favour of figuring out what was wrong with him," Gabriel says. "What does that sound like to you?"

Michael appears to be utterly horrified. “It can’t be.”

“In all likelihood, it is. Get used to the idea.”

Gabriel is intimidating like this; standing as tall as he can, with narrowed hazel eyes and a dangerous quirk to his brow. Though Michael is the eldest of his siblings, his honey-haired brother had always been particularly frightening when he wanted to be. Growling in disgust, the High Elf seats himself on a chair near Castiel’s bedside. He watches as three drops of the concoction Gabriel had been working on fall into Cas’s mouth before his brother paints the substance over his lips. He then murmurs a chant and presses a kiss to Castiel’s forehead.

From his place on the chair, Michael growls a warning.

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Get over yourself,” he says. “Cas likes affection and I like giving it to him.” Walking to the door of the small, private room, the elf shoots his brother a warning look. “I’ll be in and out all day. Do not upset him when he wakes.”

And then Gabriel is gone.

While Michael remains dutiful at his post, people filter in and out of the room. As is traditional, they leave colourful flowers on his bed, choosing only the choicest ones for such a beloved member of their community. Though Michael was well aware his youngest brother was well liked, he had no idea Castiel had won the _love_ of so many.

Sam Winchester is respectful and jittery when he visits, and keeps Castiel company between his lessons. Anna comes by as soon as word gets out. She stays for most of the day, going to fetch lunch for them, and leaves when there’s word of a mild disturbance at the southern border of _Imladris._ Anna presses a kiss to Cas’s forehead just as Gabriel had done. Michael looks away.

Soon after, Dean arrives.

The child looks absolutely devastated as he stumbles into the room, pressing his hands to his face and shaking his head. He is so distraught, he doesn’t even notice Michael presence.

“Hello, Dean. How nice of you to join us.”

Dean freezes halfway to the bed.

“I imagined,” Michael says conversationally. “That perhaps you simply didn’t care enough to come.” A raised brow. “Where is your flower?”

Dean’s fingers clench and unclench, trembling as his cheeks burn red in shame and embarrassment. Looking to the bed, Michael’s question becomes clear, but he didn't _know_. “I—”

“No matter,” the elf patronizes. “No doubt you would have picked something inappropriate. After all, I can only assume you’re here to admire your handiwork. You do know that this is your fault, don’t you?”

Despite that Dean looks as if he’s about to shatter, Michael presses. “Don’t you?” he demands.

The answering nod is almost manic.

Satisfied, Michael motions to the bed and the unconscious patient in it. “Please,” he says. “Continue.”

Though he would never normally allow this, Michael needs to confirm that what Gabriel was saying was true. He watches with rapt interest as Dean shuffles towards the bed, moving to touch Castiel’s hand before stopping himself. Looking back and scared out of his wits, Dean merely moves his gaze to the floor, whispering an apology before taking something from his pocket and pressing it into Castiel’s palm.

 _Naneth_ ’s pin.

Michael feels sick. He’s not certain when Gabriel will come next, but he needs to deal with Dean Winchester before it’s too late. If he and Castiel are Lifepartners—which seems very likely if they are already token-giving—he needs to find a way to stop their growing Bond before it is unbreakable. He will not let his brother spend his life with a human, let alone such a careless insensitive one.

He needs to break the eldest Winchester, and he needs to do it now.

“Tell me, what would you do for your brother, Dean?”

Silence.

“I would end the world for mine,” Michael murmurs. “One thousand times over, I would _burn_ this Earth to see him alive. And you…” A breath. “You jeopardize his health. Socially, biologically, and in any and every way you can possibly imagine, you pose a _threat_ to him, Dean. You starve him of food and sleep and you starve him of a good life here. Don’t you see? _Look_.”

Dean swallows thickly.

“ _LOOK_!” Michael demands. “Look at what you’ve done to _my_ little brother, Dean Winchester, and tell me you are the kind hearted soul Castiel swears by!”

“M-Michael, I—”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he warns.

“It was a-an accident—”

Dean shrinks as Michael stands tall, looking down at the human child with all the thinly veiled hatred of a true regal. “Your accident,” he says, dangerously controlled. “Almost cost my brother his life.”

Because Castiel is asleep, he does not witness how Dean Winchester shatters. Michael does, though. He sees every shard of the thirteen year-old boy crack and turn to dust, turning everything he was, is and will ever be into broken pieces of matter. Dean’s face crumples and he stands stock still as Michael sweeps out of the room, leaving him to his misery.

And Dean is _miserable_.

He sobs and apologizes at Castiel’s bedside until there is nothing left of him, sniffling and reaching out to touch his friend before pulling back his hand.

He falls asleep.

~ * ~

The world comes back in a haze of smells and sounds and colours, all blended together until they begin to separate slowly. Cas has only been put under by magyck once before, but he doubts he’ll ever forget the feeling. Groaning, he scrunches his nose, blue eyes blinking sluggish and heavy.

The last thing he remembers is having a stomach cramp.

From his right, someone sighs softly, and while it takes some serious effort, Cas manages to turn his groggy body enough to see from whom it came.

Dean.

Struck dumb, Castiel lifts a shaking hand, his fingers pushing through the other’s soft hair just to make sure he isn’t hallucinating. Dean shifts in sleep and Cas holds his breath. When he settles again, so does the elfling’s racing heart. “Mmph, Cas?” Dean mumbles in sleep. He pushes his hand out from under his head, searching.

Against his better judgment, Castiel entangles their fingers.

It’s worth it, though, to see the sleepy smile grace his _Imlad_ ’s lips. Perhaps he doesn’t truly hate him after all. Stroking his pinky over Dean’s skin, Cas settles back against his pillow and bites his lip, exhausted. He doesn’t want to sleep, he thinks helplessly, not while Dean is here. Still, it’s difficult to keep awake.

“…Cas?”

Slanting his blue eyes to look down at his sleeping charge, Castiel finds green staring back at him.

“Hello, Dean,” he smiles.

Dean seems lost. Cas watches him look down at their joined hands and back up at the small distance between them, confused as he suddenly whirls around to stare at the far corner of the room. “Michael…?” he trails off. “And you’re…?” His eyes grow wide. “I-I’m sorry,” he says suddenly, wrenching himself away. “Cas, I’m so—I swear, I didn’t mean it. I didn’t want to hurt you, I promise. I just…” Dean stumbles away, tripping over his own feet and the words tumbling from his tongue as he nears the door. “I’m sorry—”

Castiel, meanwhile, almost pulls a muscle trying to get up from bed and follow him. “Wait!” he exclaims, panting through his next sentence. “Please don’t… we should talk, shouldn’t we? Can’t you stay and talk?”

Dean looks out into the infirmary, skittish.

Cas throws back the covers. It takes every ounce of energy he possesses, but the elfling is able to push himself off the bed and throw himself in the direction of his friend, hoping he’ll be able to twist himself in a way that will make his inevitable fall less painful.

But Castiel never ends up on the ground.

Dean grunts under the weight of almost fully grown elf, breathing heavily as he supports Cas enough for the elfling to stand. Grinning in utter exhaustion, Castiel presses their foreheads together and sighs. “Who are you waiting for?”

Dean chews his lip.

“Dean?” Cas asks softly. “Tell me… please?”

“Michael,” the other breathes in reply. “Michael was here and I just—Cas, you gotta know how sorry I am. And I know that could never make up for it, but I-I didn’t come here to admire my handiwork or anything. I could never hate you, Cas. Never. I don’t even know why—”

Dean dissolves into tears.

Grunting, Castiel wobbles them both to the edge of his bed, turning to lie down on his blanket of flowers while weakly tugging at _Imlad_ ’s hand. “Come up,” he murmurs.

Dean suddenly looks terrified. “Michael—”

“Sauron take Michael,” Cas says, extending a shaking hand. “ _I_ am ill this time.”

Dean grabs hold.

He climbs onto the bed like Castiel is made of glass, making sure to keep his distance but for the tangle of their fingers between them, but Cas isn’t having it. He scoots forward until they’re inches apart, Dean’s cheeks turning rosy with the proximity. Smiling, Castiel nudges their noses.

“I missed you,” he confesses quietly.

Dean’s blush deepens. He squeezes their hands together. “Cas, I really didn’t mean it.”

“I know.”

“I could never hate you. I love you.”

Brushing a strand of hair behind Dean’s ear, Castiel smiles, his cheeks colouring a delicate pink as well. “I know.”

“I don’t even know why I said it,” he whispers, wetness gathering in his eyes. “I just—I’m gonna die so soon and you’re gonna live for so long and I’m Never gonna see you again. I was angry and scared and I’m still scared, Cas. I’m still so scared—but I’m not angry at _you_. I don’t know why I was but I didn’t mean to be. You gotta believe me, please, you gotta believe I didn’t want this to happen—”

“Of course I do,” Cas soothes. His fingers collect the moisture under Dean’s eyes. “ _Mîl hûn_ , of course.”

A sniffle. “I’m sorry you got stuck loving me.”

Rolling his eyes, Castiel presses a kiss to the tip of Dean’s freckled nose. “It is a _gift_ , loving you.”

“But I hurt you,’ Dean points out. “ _I_ did. I put you in here. I was the one—”

“Did Michael tell you that? Haven’t I told you to disregard every word he says about us together? He doesn't understand, _mîl hûn_ … and when people don’t understand, they get frightened and angry. He doesn’t understand us.”

“But he was right,” Dean says. He reaches out to brush his free fingers across Cas’s cheek. “I did this to you.”

“You hurt me,” Cas allows. “Yes, you did do that. And I was very upset. But you didn’t mean it, Dean. This was an accident; I was distracted and wasn’t taking care of myself.”

“Because of _me_. Because _I_ upset you.”

Cas chews his lip. “…Yes,” he says finally. “But no. I… I should have known better than to believe you. I know you’re growing up, and when people get older, sometimes they say things they don’t mean. I suppose I simply wasn’t expecting it. Anything else and it might…” Castiel shakes his head. “No, I don’t think it would have mattered. Adolescents say things in anger all the time with the intent to hurt. Logically, I know that, just as I know that this will not be the last time you hate me.” Giving Dean a teasing grin, Cas shrugs. “I was unprepared and I forgot,” he says simply. “Parenting you seems to catch me by surprise like that often.”

Blushing furiously, Dean crinkles his nose in disgust. “You’re not my parent.”

Castiel’s eyes widen. “Oh, Dean, I never meant to imply I’m replacing—”

“No, I-I know,” Dean says. “You’re just not—parent isn’t the right thing.”

Cas raises a brow. “Then what would you call me?”

“My friend. My… something else. Not parent.”

“Guardian?”

“No.”

Cas hums in thought. “What else is there?”

“I dunno,” Dean says shyly. He peaks up at the elfling through his lashes, flushed. “Maybe just… my Cas. You’re just my Cas.”

“Does that make you my Dean?”

Dean buries his face into Cas’s neck in embarrassment. A shrug. “Or your _Imlad_ ,” he mumbles against warm skin. “Or _mîl hûn.”_ He pauses. “Cas, I—”

“It’s done, _my Dean_ ,” Castiel teases. “Stop apologizing.”

They lay there for a while, both parties warm and comfortable in the presence of the other. Dean presses his hand flat above Cas’s heart while the elfling in question hums the Song of Creation. It’s Dean’s favourite, and the teen relaxes in his arms, nuzzling and sighing in contentment. “I didn’t bring you a flower,” he whispers after a while.

Cas smiles lazily. “Of course you did,” he murmurs. “You are the best flower I could ever ask for. My favourite flower, even.”

Groaning, Dean’s face turns from rose pink to ripe tomato red. He presses his hot skin more forcefully into his partner’s cooler neck. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“You were embarrassed by my declarations of love when you were young as well,” Cas says. “Do you not wish to hear that you are the song in my heart?”

“Not like _that_!” Dean cries.

“Hmm. Perhaps instead, you wish to hear that you are the stars in my sky.”

“Oh for all that has ever been, Cas, _stop_.”

“And why would you ask such a thing of me, my _Imlad_?” Castiel teases mercilessly. “Do you reject my love?”

“ _No_.” The vehemence with which Dean replies startles them both. “I-I mean,” he stutters. “ _Eru_ above, why do you have to be so embarrassing?”

Castiel isn’t entirely sure, but he knows he likes it. Grinning widely, he shrugs, settling them in a more comfortable position. They’ve barely been there a minute before Cas feels the gentle press of lips against his neck. His heart races as Dean carefully moves to meet his eyes, both blushing to the tips of their hair. “I’ll never say I hate you again,” he vows softly. “Never.”

Cas’s heart turns to liquid warmth inside his chest. He nods, speechless despite the fact that he can’t quite believe it. It’s in Dean’s nature to say things he doesn’t mean. He has no doubt it will happen again, and he will be better prepared to handle it in the future.

He will be wrong about this.

During his lifetime, Dean Winchester will say enough ‘things he doesn’t mean’ to fill a book… but he will never _ever_ tell Castiel that he hates him. Not again. He’ll call him annoying and frustrating and a plethora of names that make no sense and are not true, but he will never say: _I hate you_.

“We should rest,” Cas breathes, finding his voice back in the present. “It’s been a long day.”

“Okay.”

“Yes.”

They lay back.

For some reason, it’s awkward in the wake of Dean’s small kiss, the air between them tense in a way it’s never been before. But even that cannot survive Castiel’s exhaustion, and soon the elfling is too tired to do anything but make himself comfortable, cuddling into his friend as they drift off together.

 

~ * ~

 

Michael lurks in the doorway with a pitcher of water in hand, shaking; with anger or shock he isn’t quite sure, but the view of his brother tangled up with a teenaged human, even in sleep, is enough to disturb him for three lifetimes. He feels sick when Dean shivers and Castiel immediately holds him more closely, hands turning from loose fists to spreading out against his back. It’s unacceptable.

Clenching his jaw, Michael considers separating them only to have his heart catch at the happy little noise his baby brother makes in sleep. He watches, horrified, as Castiel inhales deeply at Dean’s shoulder.

Swallowing thickly, the elven lord uses the magyck his title was gifted with to peer deeply into their souls, looking avidly for any golden strings tying them together. He knows this is an unspeakable violation of trust and privacy at the very least, but convinces himself that it is the only way. _Gwedh_ may have manifested at a superficial level, but there is nothing to truly fret about if their souls reject the Coupling.

Michael is so panicked and flustered; he completely misses the odd fullness of his brother’s soul.

He does, however, catch a single golden filament, tucked away and quivering between them.

…He could cut it.

It’s forbidden, but he could. He could destroy it and give Castiel a chance at a good life. A chance at _normalcy_. It’s wrong, but wouldn’t that be worth it? This is his littler brother’s _life_. The best of them all, shouldn’t Castiel have the most wonderful life?

But then Dean snuffles against his skin, and Castiel is awake. The elfling, so engrossed in his warmth and exhaustion, never notices his audience. He merely smiles at the boy in his arms and presses a kiss to Dean’s temple, re-settling them with all the glow of an elf falling in love before dozing off once more.

Michael can’t do it. Not like this.

Gritting his teeth, he storms out of the infirmary, shutting himself in his rooms with a growl. One filament is not enough to cement a Bond, let alone one quivering as violently as the one between Dean and Castiel. He does not need to cut it because it will break of its own accord. There has never been _Gwedh_ between Man and _Edhellen_ because it is unnatural and impossible; no doubt Castiel is reacting to Dean’s closeness because that is unnatural as well. It will destroy itself. It has to.

If not… Michael will break it personally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Imlad_ = Dean  
>  _Esseru_ = Sam  
>  _Mîl hûn_ = Kind Heart


	8. Mel Ubed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean learns the Language of Love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, glossary at the bottom and hover for immediate translation! Just a heads up, this will probably be the next update for a good couple of weeks because it's the end of the semester :)

“…Hey, Cas?” 

Castiel turns at the sound of Dean's voice, abandoning his sketchbook and pencils for a different kind of pleasure. The sun is beginning to set over _Imladris_ , painting the entire world in soft, rose-gold light, and even if interacting with Dean was a chore—it _isn’t_ —the way the dusk-glow reflects his eyes and hair makes him an otherworldly beauty. Fairer than an elf by far.

Dean is sixteen now. Though still somewhat lanky, he is beginning to fill out his clothing with elbows that, while still sharp, are no longer wholly treacherous. His skin is more pale than it was when he was a child; indoor lessons having taken precedence over outdoor play, but he shines like starlight nonetheless. One day, Castiel believes he’d like to draw his _Imlad_ just as he is now: radiant and beautiful and… worried?

Cas eyes the furrow of Dean’s brows with a slight furrow of his own, turning in his place against his balcony’s balustrade to give his charge his full attention. The more he observes, the more he takes note of the slight tenseness of _Imlad_ ’s shoulders and the tremble in his hands. Castiel’s smile—lazy with warmth from the sun and the beauty of his company—drops. “What is it?”

Incredibly, Dean shuffles in place and palms the back of neck. Red blossoms in his cheeks, completely drowning out his freckles as he clears his throat. He looks… _embarrassed_. “Dean?” Cas asks hesitantly, beyond worried. Did he get into trouble? Did something bad happen? What could he possibly feel embarrassed about? The pink tinge to his skin may not be new but the awkward shuffling most definitely is. 

“I—” Dean takes a breath. He starts over: “Do you, uh… d’you remember when you told me about _meleth_ and _Gwedh_ , when I was little?”

All of a sudden, Castiel does not like where this conversation is going.

He nods slowly like he isn’t quite sure of what he’s hearing, even though at this point, the elfling is fairly certain. Already, he can feel his hands turn clammy and he wipes them on his robes. A blush mottles his cheeks, and his eyes, previously heavy-lidded with pleasure, turn big and blue and slightly terrified.

Castiel will never be old enough to have this conversation.

The elfling sends a quick prayer to every deity he knows of, licking his lips to wet his suddenly desert-dry lips. Sixteen is still young, isn’t it? It has to be. Especially for humans! Sixteen is… well, what does one know at sixteen anyway? Nothing. Dean Winchester knows nothing of the world. He’s learning. He’s learning and—and curiosity is good, but not _this_. _Eru_ above, _not this_.

“Well…” the human trails off, swallowing. Castiel braces himself. “I mean, how would you… if I wanted, how…?”

_For all that rest in Valinor, why._

Though Cas attempts to set his shoulders, he feels far too awkward for the movement to have its desired effect. Where he would have preferred to be calm, cool and collected for this conversation, the elfling feels one hundred and ten percent out of his depth. There is no control here; only the lingering awkwardness of adolescence.

_Then when?_

_When he asks me._

Couldn’t Dean have waited another cycle? Or… or _forever_? They’re both _so young._

Castiel bites his lip and clears his throat for something to do. It seems that despite the fact that his body resembles the physique of a fully-grown elf, Cas’s tendency to blush at this particular topic has not yet left him. Perhaps he is not as mature and worldly as he had previous thought. “Okay,” he says finally, voice only slightly trembling. “Alright…”

But something is bothering him.

Why is Dean asking this in the first place? Is it due to a healthy curiosity, or because he has his eye on someone in particular? For some reason, the latter thought leaves a bitter taste in Cas’s mouth. Who could Dean have chosen? Who dares think themselves deserving of his _Imlad_? Do they even know about Dean’s affections? Is his love unrequited? Cas simultaneously hopes it is but hopes it isn’t, which is confusing—of course he wants every happiness for his friend, but… but what? What should have been a straightforward conversation turns very confusing, very quickly. Castiel’s stomach is in knots, his palms are sweating and he feels this disgusting, dark cloud of emotion sweep over him like a wraith in the night.

“Do you have someone particular in mind?” he asks, trying to be nonchalant. The elfling, oddly, begins to convince himself that he is asking the latter question not because he feels an irrational and burning desire for its answer, but to aid in teaching Dean the ways of love. If he has a name, he can use examples and tailor the lesson to give useful, practical advice.

He can also have the knowledge of who it is. He can keep an eye on them; make certain they are well aware Dean Winchester is the most precious creature on this Earth, and that harming him—even accidentally—brings about dire consequences.  

 _Imlad_ shrugs before him, toeing the stone beneath his bare feet with a bitten lip. “Not really?” he answers. “I’m just… I guess I just want to know. For eventually.”

It takes Castiel’s heart unclenching at the confession for the elfling to realize that what he feels is jealousy; great, terrible jealousy.

_**Why?** _

For the moment, he forces himself not to dwell on it. Cas reminds himself that asking about _Mel Ubed_ is still an interest in finding a Lifepartner—and that that’s _fine_. Healthy, even. Normal. Pushing any and all complicating thoughts from his mind, the elfling concentrates. This does not have to be difficult.

He takes a deep breath. “I… am not certain of how humans go about finding a mate, but—”

“It can't be that different, right?” Dean interrupts quickly. “Just, uh, teach me your stuff and I can change it or whatever.”

A nod. “Good. Yes. That sounds—” He clears his throat. This is only as difficult as he makes it. “Alright, well, elves… when one of the _edhellen_ expresses an interest in finding _meleth_ , we court by way of _Mel Ubed_.” Stepping towards the balustrade, Castiel jumps up to sit on the wide structure, left leg tucked under and turned towards the space beside him. Dean takes his place there moments later. “ _Mel Ubed_ is otherwise known as the Language of Love,” Cas explains. As he blushes and shifts in his seat, their knees bump. “It’s not so much an entirely new language as it is a subset of Sindarin itself; compliments, declarations, actions… _Mel Ubed_ is spoken as much with words—” A touch to his own lips. “—As with eyes—” Giving his baby blues a slight flutter, Castiel looks up the picture of coy submission. “…And touch.” Heart pounding in his chest, Cas extends a hand to tuck hair behind Dean’s ear, purposely drawing his fingertips across a freckled cheek. “Understand?”

“Yeah.” The rosiness of _Imlad_ ’s cheeks seems only enhanced by his breathlessness, and Castiel feels a real smile steal across his lips.

“Courting happens in three distinct parts,” he continues softly. “And one must not stray from the order in which they are meant to be executed. To do so would not only be disrespectful, but an unspeakable violation of _Mel Ubed_.” Cas bites his lip, cheeks warming considerably. “It would be akin to having… carnal relations with many, outside of the Bond. _Mel Ubed_ is sacred and not to be taken lightly.” Raising a brow, the elfling turns to the other boy. “Are you still following?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Castiel nods. He carefully keeps his thoughts away from his mistake in the kitchens three years past; he had massacred the sacred rules and Hannah had been incredibly gracious with him. “The first part,” the elfling pushes on, “is _Mîlamrún_. It is composed mainly of compliments and love-words regarding the aesthetic. I might comment on the colour of your eyes or the specific shade of your hair, but nothing deeper than that. To pay compliments to anything past the superficial would be moving too quickly.”

Dean considers this. “So… if I told you your eyes were like… like robin’s eggs…?” Thinking back on his words, he groans. “Aw _Eru_ , that was—”

“No no!” Cas grins, biting back laughter. In a spontaneous act of affection, he places his palm on Dean’s knee. “It was a good first attempt. Rather… I would tell you that your eyes are more vibrant than stars, Dean Winchester, for surely they carry the secrets of the Universe within their depths.”  Castiel isn’t entirely sure what happens between one moment and the next, but suddenly, each word is weighted with meaning he can barely understand. Swallowing thickly, he takes in the flush of Dean’s skin before pressing on, thumb gently stroking where it lies atop thinly-covered skin: “I would… tell you that that the green of the natural world pales in comparison to your irises, and that the roses in your cheeks are sweeter than any flower could ever hope to be. I would tell you that I see starlight in your smile and kindness in your hands… that you are a revelation; but, ultimately, I would speak to your eyes… for such eyes as yours, I have never seen equalled.”

Dean seems incapable of speech.

“I should not touch you yet,” Cas continues explaining. “Only speak as I have just described. _Mîlamrún_ allows for spending time alone, but nothing more than that; physical affection is saved for the final part of the courting process.” A pause. “It seems silly, now,” he confesses; “after sharing touch with you so frequently.”

“Y-Yeah.”

Cas frowns and cocks his head to the side. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. Yup. Definitely. I just… I think you’re—” Dean waves a hand as if to convey some abstract, important meaning. “Yeah.”

Despite not making any sense, _Imlad_ ’s fumble causes warmth to blossom in Castiel’s chest. He accepts the compliment with a blush of his own. “Thank you.”

Dean ducks his head in a nod.

“The second part is _Mîlant_ ,” Cas says after a short time. His voice successfully manages to bring _Imlad_ out of his embarrassment and the other boy looks up, green eyes focused with rapt interest. “It’s followed by _Mîlannûn_. _Mîlant_ literally translates to ‘love-gift’, and is named for the token that is given from one _meleth_ to the other. Both will give something dear to their hearts as a symbol of love and devotion, like… a physical manifestation of their feelings.” In one quick, graceful move, Castiel slips off the balustrade and onto the stone floor, brushing his fingertips along Dean’s thigh. “Wait here.”

He fetches _Naneth_ ’s pin.

He’d kept it in his trunk after the incident in the infirmary three years ago, too frightened of the possibility of rejection to dare offering it again. Now, however… something about the situation no longer makes Castiel afraid. The elfling grabs the bauble and pads back to his balcony, stepping past the curtains to find Dean sitting with his back to _Imladris_ , silhouetted in the light of the setting sun. With quick, light steps, Cas finds himself between the other’s legs. “I meant to give it back to you sooner,” he murmurs. “But I… It doesn’t matter.” Locking eyes with his _Imlad_ , Castiel offers the trinket with a faint flush. “I would give you this as a token of my love.”

Dean’s lip quirk up in a gentle, gorgeously pleased smile as he looks from the metal object to bright blue eyes. “How do I accept?”

Cas feels a breath steal past his lips, unaware he’d been holding it back. He smiles so widely, he fears his face will split in two. “You say; ‘I, Dean Winchester, accept this gift, knowing that its giver, Castiel, is the smartest, fiercest, bravest, most fantastic elf in all Middle Earth. I bow before his awesomeness—’”

“C’mon, that’s not what you say,” Dean retorts, playfully pushing at Cas’s shoulder. “What are the real words?”

The elfling laughs and raises a teasing brow, smirking mischievously. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking _you_.”

“Point.” Sighing, Castiel shrugs. He sobers quickly, looking up from Dean’s legs as he worries his bottom lip. Blue eyes bore into green. “Tell me,” he murmurs. “‘Castiel, I accept this token, and vow to protect it with my whole heart.’”

“Castiel,” Dean echoes, voice turning heavy with something unrecognizable. “I accept this token. And by my life, vow to protect it with my whole heart.” Wrapping his hand around Cas’s own, the teen brings their combined fist to his chest. He looks at his friend meaningfully. “ _By my life_.”

With trembling fingers, Cas pins the trinket to the front of his _Imlad_ ’s shirt, right above his heart. His limbs feel sluggish and heavy, heart pounding and eyes wide as they drift closer. It’s clear that Dean is just as overwhelmed as Castiel by the way they stare at each other; both far too young to wholly understand the meaning of their actions. Cas’s hands drift from Dean’s robe to rest on the other’s thighs as Dean’s fingers dig into the balustrade.

“What next?” _Imlad_ breathes.

The entire world falls away.

“I would compliment your soul,” Cas whispers. “I would tell you that the cosmos are dull compared to your essence; that in the history of Creation, you, my _Imlad_ , have no likeness; in all art that has been and will ever be, amidst all false and true gods and heroes, you are unparalleled in beauty and bravery.” A breath. “I would tell you, then, that I am in love with you… and I would pray that you return my affections.”

They’re closer somehow, more so than Castiel remembers being before, and though it’s all pretend, the elfling’s heart is fluttering as if he’d truly just courted his best friend. His stomach drops pleasantly as Dean tucks a lock of soft, dark hair behind his pointed ear, fingers falling to touch his jaw. With a dip of his head, _Imlad_ moves until their noses brush, lips parting with a ‘whoosh’ of sweet breath. “I…”

“Castiel, _boe istag cennin_ —oh!”

The spell is broken. Cas feels as if he’s been doused with cold water, his hair standing on end and heart beating hard enough to bruise his ribs. Flushed and mortified, the elfling all but jumps away from Dean, wiping his sweating palms on his robe as he clears his throat, carefully eyeing where the other sits to ensure he hasn’t knocked him off balance. Whatever flame that had been burning slow pleasure in Castiel’s chest is quickly extinguished by Sam’s voice… but Cas quickly finds that the youngest Winchester was not the only one to have witnessed whatever had just transpired _._

“Am I to assume Dean had something stuck in his eye, Castiel? Or were you checking him for body lice?”

Cas almost chokes.

He bites his lip and swallows for lack of knowing what to do in response, wanting more than anything to hold _Imlad_ ’s hand but knowing that to be unwise in front of his eldest brother.

Michael looks thunderous.

His eyes are narrowed and his posture is sturdy and wide, as if he’s trying to make himself as big and intimidating as possible. From his place at his side, Sam appears to be terrified, and Castiel is made aware of the fact that he hates this. He’s never truly hated anything in life, but he hates the way Michael makes him feel. He hates the way Michael makes his boys feel.

Feeling particularly reckless and invincible on the heels his closeness with Dean, Cas steps forward with his head held high. His brother will not terrorize his family. They may be blood, but love transcends biology, and this will end now. The fact that Michael is a High Elf does not excuse his repugnant behaviour.

But the moment Castiel speaks, Dean opens his mouth as well:

“—It was me, I had a thing in my eye.”

“—I was teaching him _Mel Ubed_.”

Sam freezes. Michael raises a brow. Neither Dean nor Cas finds the words to explain themselves. “So," the elder elf drawls. "I’m to understand that you, Castiel, were teaching _Imlad_ the Language of Love, sacred to our people, when something flew into his eye? What exactly were you trying to accomplish by being so close to him?”

“I-It was a speck of dust,” Dean covers. “But it’s gone now. Cas—Castiel, had to look but I, uh… I blinked it away.”

“You blinked it away,” Michael repeats, unimpressed. “Is that what happened, Castiel? Or is Dean sweetly and naively attempting to protect you from _absolutely nothing_.”

Cas grits his teeth. “Dean is telling the truth,” he lies. “But as you said, I was teaching him how to court a potential mate.”

“A potential mate?” Michael shoots back, incredulous. “This is very surprising to me; especially due to the fact that by its very nature, _Mel Ubed_ is not physical. Have you not taught him that physical affection is inappropriate, Castiel?”

“I have.”

“And yet you think it is acceptable to all but be in his lap.”

Cas blushes profusely, cursing his own complexion as he attempts to stand his ground. Michael eyes him with narrowed eyes. “This behaviour is unacceptable,” he continues, ruthless. “One more similar instance and you will force me to enact twenty-four hour supervision for you both, wasting both the time and resources of the Guard. Is that what you want?”

“No,” Castiel mumbles.

“What was that?”

“No,” the elfling says more clearly.

“Good. I expect more from you, brother. The human cannot be helped; his… base instinct is clearly beyond control, but you? You disappoint me with your behaviour. You shame your _family_.”

Castiel clears his throat and has the decency to look ashamed, tucking hair behind his blushing ear while his gaze remains rooted to his toes. He’s still angry, but it’s one thing to be scolded another to know you’re a disappointment.

“Come, it’s time for supper.”

Cas watches as his brother herds Sam out of the room by way of dragging him by the sleeve, and the top of the elfling’s lip curls in disgust. How dare he believe that the Winchesters are less? They are the best everything in this world. Stepping forward with intent, Castiel freezes when he feels a hand brush his own. He looks to the appendage with wide blue eyes.

 _Imlad_ gives him an apologetic but stern look, clearly telling Cas to keep his distance as they begin to follow behind. He gives his friend a slight smile before walking ahead, and Castiel is left to brood. He is not a freak. He should not be ashamed. Wanting closeness is not and should not be a crime.

Supper is awkward, mostly because Michael decides to stay. He sends the wait staff into a tizzy with his sudden change of plans, and Cas glares at him from his place at the table. Where Castiel would normally sit at the head with Sam and Dean and either side, Michael has taken that honour for himself, relegating Cas to the spot on Sam's other side. It's done purposely, and Castiel spears his salad as if it has personally offended him.

"Dean, how do your lessons progress?"

Michael wipes his mouth with his napkin delicately, leaning back in his chair with a deceptively kind smile on his lips. It grates on Castiel's nerves that he insists on speaking English around his boys; as if it is some sort of mean, private joke rather than a courtesy. Purposely, the elfling slides his cutlery across his plate in a way that is sure to squeak.

Three sets of eyes fall on him.

"Apologies," Cas says, recommencing the violent attack on his food. He's not sorry at all.

Michael's ear twitches. It’s clear he’s about to make some sort of remark when Dean beats him to it, respectfully inclining his head downward. “My mentors tell me I'm progressing well, _hîr vuin_.”

“Good. Very good. You’re learning Healing and History?”

“Yes, _hîr vuin._ ”

“You have progressed from Sindarin to writing and learning Quenya?”

“And Khuzdul, _hîr vuin_.”

Michael sighs. “Ah yes, the language of the dwarves… disgusting, filthy creatures, but knowledge is power, is it not?” He gives a predatory smile. “And of your own people? Men speak in such different ways around the continent.”

“Only what I had been taught as a child, _hîr vuin_. Westron is my mother tongue, but I can speak broken words of Dalish. My mother’s family originally hailed from Dale but my father travelled often. He often fell into Roherric and Rhovanian around us, so I can understand certain words.”

“You seem to have a tongue for languages,” Michael comments.

Dean blushes. “Oh, respectfully no, _hîr vuin_. My brother's the gifted one. He's a true genius, whereas I… I'm better at manual labour.”

“A grunt?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Well, we always have use for those.”

Castiel is seconds away from slamming his fork into the aged Oak of the table. Dean is brilliant, can’t he see that? Hasn’t he been raised to see his own worth? And for Michael to agree? The metal utensil digs into the elfling’s skin until he can feel the bite of it, but nobody pays him any mind. Cas is certain this is the worst, most uncomfortable meal he’s ever had. He drops his fork and pushes his plate away despite the fact that it’s half full, not caring when Michael catches the action with a disapproving stare. “You require sustenance, Castiel.”

“I find I have been adequately sustained for the moment, thank you.”

When Sam’s hand sneaks to tangle with his underneath the table, Cas has to actively stop himself from being too obvious. He grounds himself in the press of smaller fingers and wishes his legs were only slightly longer. Perhaps then he could reach under the table and touch Dean for comfort; the other boy looks as if he doesn’t know whether to be miserable or terrified, and has settled on some hybrid of the two.

“Dean, I would like for you to begin training tomorrow.”

The entire table is suddenly quiet.

“Training in what capacity?” Castiel asks warily. “Surely you don’t mean to send him into the field?”

“The field? Of course not. Dean will train for the Guard before he has any hope of defending _Imladris_. He will be versed in the ways of the knife and the sword… of course, he will learn the weapons of his race; Elvish steel is not meant for human hands.”

The only reason Castiel does not speak up is because Dean looks excited. He’s all but jumping up and down in his seat, far too happy at the prospect of learning how to fight to be upset by the other’s blatant speciesism. “Can I learn the bow?” Dean asks, enthusiastic and forgetting himself in front of his elder.

Michael tilts his head to the side. “The bow?” he echoes. “My dear boy, the bow is the true weapon of the _edhellen_. Are you _edhellen_?” 

 _Are you a man_?

“No,” Dean replies, disappointed.

“Then that settles that.” Pushing up from his seat, the high elf excuses himself from their meal. “You shall be expected in the receiving room at sunrise,” he says. “A mentor will be appointed to you then.”

As soon as Michael has left the room, all three slouch in their seats. Strung out and exhausted, it’s no wonder that Cas, Dean and Sam all retire to their rooms without dessert. The goodnight rituals are different than when they were little, and as now usual, the trio stops in front of the Winchesters' room to bid each other sweet dreams. Castiel presses his usual kiss to Sam’s cheek, accepting a kiss and hug in return before the younger boy heads into the room to get ready. Dean, however, stays.

This in itself is not exactly unusual, but it’s rare that the elder boy stays long after his brother. _Imlad_ will normally give Castiel a nod before retiring himself, sometimes brushing their fingers as he goes.

Tonight is different.

Awkwardness radiates off of Dean in waves, causing him to bunch up his shoulders and look up at the ceiling for no reason at all. He blows a raspberry and smiles in embarrassment before rocking back on his heels. Castiel is confused. Dean doesn’t appear to be upset, he just—

Quickly as you please, Dean entwines their fingers.

It’s leaps and bounds more than the tentative touches they’ve sometimes shared before bed, and the elfling finds himself blushing profusely, squeezing their hands. Dean squeezes back. “Night, Cas,” he says softly, sweetly. 

Castiel watches him retreat into his room with a smile.

 

~ * ~

 

“He should be back by now. He should be—”

“You know, if you keep pacing like that, you’ll wear a hole into the floor.”

Flexing his fingers around the thin cover up he’d been twisting in his nervousness, Cas whips the material at Gabriel, scowling. “He should be back by now.”

“You’re acting like a mother hen, Cas.”

“Well, you’re…” Trailing off with a grunt, Castiel throws himself on Sam’s bed, covering his face. “Is it so bad I’m worried? Uriel could be teaching him. _Uriel_. For all I know, Dean is bleeding out in some obscure corner of _Imladris_.” 

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I, Gabriel? Really?”

The door opens.

“Cas? What’re you, uh—”

“Dean!”

Castiel jumps up from his horizontal position, ignoring his brother’s mutter of ‘and that’s my cue’ as he rushes towards his friend. Dean flinches at the speed and force behind his enthusiasm and Cas frowns. Gabriel slips out of the room. “…Dean?” Castiel asks.

“Yeah, it’s good,” he replies quickly. “I’m good. I’m just gonna, um, wash a-and then I’ll… yeah, I’ll meet you here. Stay. Or not. You don’t have to. I’m, um… ’kay.”

He scurries into the bathroom and slams the door shut. Castiel’s frown deepens. “Alright,” he says slowly, speaking to a now empty room. “I’ll just… wait here, then.”

Cas does wait. He waits and waits and waits until eventually, his eyes slip shut and he is lost to the land of dreams.

He wakes to the creaking of a door.

“Mmm… Dean?”

“Go back to sleep, Cas.”

Eyes heavy with slumber, Castiel shakes his head and stretches in bed, blinking blearily in the late afternoon light. Dean appears to be leaving the room. Why is Dean leaving the room? “Where are you going?” the elfling asks, words still steeped in exhaustion. “I want to hear about your training.”

“Y-Yeah, sure. It was good. Tell you more later, okay? Just sleep.”

Cas frowns. “Wait—Wait,” he mumbles, stumbling to his feet. “It feels like you’re avoiding me. Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, okay? I gotta go.”

“Dean—”

“What’d I just say, Cas? I’m fine!”

Castiel is suddenly startlingly awake. “...Then tell me about how training went.”

“I’m busy.”

“No, you’re not.”

“How do you know, huh? You got a copy of my schedule? I’m not your dog, Cas, I don’t have to take orders from you!”

“You are my equal,” Castiel bites. “But I will not have a repeat performance of three years ago. You will tell me what the problem is, and we will fix it.”

“Tomorrow.”

“No, now.”

With a shit-eating smirk, Dean wriggles his fingers in a wave. “Bye, Cas.” He reaches for the door.

…And Castiel grabs his shoulder.

The reaction is instantaneous: Dean’s mouth opens in a yelp as his knees buckle underneath him, a stream of curses falling from his mouth as he hits the solid floor with another yelp and grimace. Cas immediately throws himself to his knees, horrified.

“Cas. Cas, wait, please. Please, wait. I’m fine, okay? I just have a bruise. I’m really okay. _Cas_ —”

Swearing turns to babbled pleading, and Castiel ignores it. He quickly reaches for Dean’s robe, undoing the laces at the front with soldier-like precision as his hands are half-heartedly batted away. With one well-placed glare, _Imlad_ stills. “Cas,” he pleads. “Cas, really, I swear I’m—”

Pushing the material over freckled shoulders, the pieces fall to his waist.

Castiel feels sick.

Dean’s body is covered in bruises, deep purple and black. The one over his heart is mottled blue and yellow, but over his stomach they are a disgusting shade of green. His knuckles are scraped and there is a small laceration on his left cheekbone, but no bruises where they would be visible. Cas reaches forward with trembling fingers but stops, shaking his head. Dean grabs his hand.

“Nothing’s wrong, Cas,” he insists. “I’m fine. I’m just fine.”

“Fine,” Castiel croaks. “Do you see yourself? Dean—”

“I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m okay.”

There is a handprint on Dean’s left deltoid. Cas traces it and feels as if he’s going to cry. “Who did this to you?”

“Did this to me?” Dean frowns. “No one. Cas, seriously—”

“Just tell me.”

The moment _Imlad_ hesitates, Castiel knows.

“…Michael said he wanted to teach me personally.”

Michael. _Michael did this._

Cas quickly moves to look at Dean’s back, unsurprised to find a myriad of bruises there as well. They must have been practicing with wooden weapons. Either that, or they were grappling. Neither one is particularly easy on the body, but this should not be the result.

“Hey, I’ll get better, right?” Dean says pleasantly. “I’m not a good fighter right now, I deserved it. I just have to work harder.”

“Deserved it?” Castiel repeats, disturbed. “Is that what he told you? Dean, nobody _deserves_ this. This is… this is abuse. This is unacceptable. I need to—I have—” But Cas has no idea where to start. He needs to fix Dean, but he needs to do something drastic. He needs to _end this_ before Michael kills Dean Winchester to make some sort of speciesist, backwards point, but he can’t leave his friend at the same time and everything is turned around and Cas is so _upset_ : “This is all my fault,” he says, vision blurring rapidly. “Dean, I am _so sorry_ this is all my fault.”

“Cas, no.” _Imlad_ brushes a thumb over Castiel’s cheek. “C’mon, I’m fine.”

“He won’t get away with this,” Cas hisses. “I will not _let_ him.”

“Cas—”

“Family does not hurt family,” the elfling interrupts sternly. Biting his lip, he traces over Dean’s ribs. “Not like this.”

Dean blushes profusely. He stays silent while Castiel gets his bearings, green eyes big and wide as graceful fingers trace his skin. He gets goosebumps in some places and shivers in others, and it isn’t long before Cas is standing and offering a hand, helping his friend to the bathroom. He tells Dean to sit on the counter and immediately begins rifling through the cupboards.

“What are you doing?”

Castiel grunts a response.

“Cas, seriously, what’s up?” Dean pushes at his bent over backside with his bare foot, quickly pulling the elfling close the moment he is in reach. For the second time in as many days, Castiel finds himself between Dean Winchester’s legs. “Talk to me,” Dean says. His fingers trace Cas’s jawline.

“I’m fixing you,” the elfling replies.

“But they’re bruises. It’s not a big deal.”

“Just… let me, please. After all, what use am I if I cannot at least heal you when I’ve failed as your protector?” With a wry smile, Castiel steps away, set on gathering all the materials he needs. Dean grabs his hand.

“Cas, you didn’t fail.”

“Really?” he asks thickly. “Because it seems to me that I have. Spectacularly.”

“Well, you’re wrong.”

“Your faith amazes me.”

“It shouldn’t,” Dean smiles, reaching up to tug playfully at a lock of dark hair. “You’re pretty amazing.”

Blushing deeply, Castiel ducks into the cupboards again, smiling to himself when he once again feels a foot against his body. Pressing into the touch, the elfling continues his search.

He emerges with an array of different pots and powders.

Mixing them into the correct balms, Cas coats his fingers generously before smearing the stuff on freckled skin. Castiel is focused and business-like, unaware of the laws of propriety as he massages paste over each bruise, muttering the necessary incantation. Dean’s face is heated bright red, the colour turning to something almost physically impossible when Cas pushes his robe up his sparsely-haired legs to get at the injuries there. The way his fingers press into the muscles of his calves is sinful, and Dean almost groans with pleasure. He catches the sound at the same moment he realizes he needs to cover his groin with as much material as possible.

Castiel, completely unaware of Dean’s growing erection and therefore discomfort, continues working his way up to the thigh. By the time he gets there, Dean has a sizeable pile of fabric in his lap, and holds onto the elfling’s shoulders for balance. His _Imlad_ is flushed all the way down his chest.

“Did he hurt your genitals?”

Dean’s eyes widen in embarrassment. He all but chokes on his own saliva. “W-What?”

Castiel doesn’t look up from his work. “Your penis, your testicles, did he do anything—”

“No! No, why would you even—”

“To prevent you from having children.”

Dean frowns. “...He would do that?”

“I don’t know,” Cas mutters clinically, working eucalyptus paste into an unblemished but cramping portion of the other’s thigh. “He beat you, didn’t he? I would say it’s not beyond the realm of possibility. He’s a monster; a speciesist, a-and vile and—”

“Woah, hey.” With gentle hands, Dean grasps Castiel’s wrists and forces them upwards, causing the elfling to look up. They almost knock heads they’re so close, and Cas swallows the gasp that gets caught in his throat. He can count every one of his _Imlad_ ’s freckles from here. “I’m okay,” Dean continues softly. “And you’re okay. That’s all that matters, right?”

A bare leg, complete with foot and toes, is soothingly running up and down Cas’s side, and the elfling finds he can’t concentrate. “Um…” Of their own accord, Castiel’s hands splay wide on Dean’s thighs, pushing up towards his hips ever so slightly. His brow furrows as he leans forward, seeking something.

Dean sighs in response, brushing their noses as he searches for the same thing. He smiles, breathless. “Michael can’t hurt us.”

Can’t he? Pulling away, Cas concentrates on the cut on the other’s face, thumb stroking the injured skin lightly with paste until it’s smoothed and disappeared. Whatever look is currently on his face, it makes Dean’s rosy smile turn worried. “Cas, don’t do anything stupid.”

“Go rest. Sleep nude, we’ll change your sheets as soon as you wake and it’ll be easier on the bruises. Don’t worry about staining. Do you need help getting down?”

“Uh, no, I guess—but—”

“I’ll be back shortly. I promise.” Castiel is almost out of the bathroom when he strides back to the countertop with intent. “Michael _can_ hurt us, Dean,” the elfling says seriously, brushing fingers through light hair. “Not in the ways that matter, but he can.”

“Cas, wait—”

But Castiel presses a kiss to Dean’s forehead, and is gone.

 

~ * ~

 

Cas pushes past the guards and court folk, ignoring their attempts to hold him back or properly announce him as he barges into Michael’s study, livid. The elfling could care little and less that there is a council meeting in progress and is, in fact, happy to interrupt it in the most obnoxious way possible: “Dean’s training will be handed over to another mentor or will cease entirely.”

From where he leans over the map table, Michael smiles as if completely expecting this. He dismisses the others in the room calmly. Castiel almost asks them to stay; he is not entirely sure he will not attempt to kill his brother.

“Training will continue as per usual,” the High Elf says once everyone has gone. “Thank you for voicing your concerns, Castiel, but you are dismissed.”

“It was not a _suggestion_.”

“As you are not Dean’s true guardian, everything you say is a suggestion.” Michael’s tone is flippant. “Leave, please, before I am forced to remove you.”

“No.”

“Castiel.” A warning.

Cas steps forward fiercely. “I won’t let you hurt him.”

“ _You_ have no say in what happens to him. The Winchesters are _mine_.”

“YOU _LIAR_!”

“I lie, Castiel?! I only protect _you_! _I_ saved them.” Michael steps forward. “ _I_ brought them home.” Another step. “ _I_ gave them to you for caring.” Castiel has backed himself into a wall. “And _I_ will keep them here as long as I see fit.”

Their faces are extremely close now, but Cas holds his ground. “You can’t,” he growls into their space. “You _can’t_!”

Michael smirks. “Of course I can. I can do whatever I need to ensure your safety. Including sending Dean Winchester to bed with bruises. He needs to learn—”

“I won’t allow it!”

“Simpleton, you don’t have a choice! If you will not cooperate, I will keep you locked in your room—”

“No!”

“— _Yes._ And with _Eru_ as my witness, I will beat him until you realize how weak he truly is! He will not _last,_ Castiel!”

“Then I will cast aside my immortality to be just as fragile! Because I swear Michael, if I have to kill you myself, you will not lay a hand on—”

The crack echoes in the large room, made only more obvious by the thump of Cas’s body as it hits the floor. Tears immediately make his vision swim and he presses the cool back of his hand against his cheek, mouth open in shock. Michael hit him. _Michael hit him._

“Castiel…” Cas shies away from his eldest sibling, flinching as he tries to move closer. Michael looks just as horrified at what has just transpired, and bites his lip. “Castiel, please…”

Cas swallows thickly and picks himself up off the floor, forcing himself not to cry. His cheek is one fire and he feels wetness seeping between his fingers. Michael was wearing his rings. _Michael hit him_. His eldest sibling, the one who taught him honour and etiquette, who took it upon himself to care for all of them when their parents passed,  _hit him._ Pulling open the heavy door, the Castiel stops.

“You are no brother of mine.”

He walks out of the room.

~ * ~

 

Cas has his hand pressed to his face for the duration of the walk back. He mutters healing incantations under his breath with every step, praying the physical evidence of his encounter will disappear before he reaches Dean’s bedroom. After five or six exhausted tries, however, it becomes clear to Castiel that healing Dean earlier has depleted his power reserves. Cursing his limited abilities as an elfling, Cas hopes he can slip into his room and take care of himself before his _Imlad_ comes looking for him.

Unfortunately, when Castiel arrives at his destination, the boy in question is sitting outside his door.

Dean looks cramped and uncomfortable, sticky with paste as fabric glues to his skin. He sleeps with his face tucked into his knees and his back to the wood of Cas's door, and the elfling briefly marvel's over his friend's ingenuity. He should have done the same earlier.

Kneeling, Castiel gently removes the hand from his face to card it through Dean's hair. He braces himself for an argument.

"Mmph, go ’way, Sammy."

"Try again."

Dean's smile is lazy as he looks up, blinking sleep from his eye and rubbing a palm covered with flaking, dried paste across his face. “Hey, Cas.” Cas almost believes that he managed to cloak his injury because of Dean's seemingly sunny disposition... but then green eyes harden to stone.

"I'll kill him."

"No, you won't."

Dean immediately attempts to get to his feet, but with his healing injuries is easily held in place. He squirms. "Let. Me. Go! I'll murder him! I'll kill him in his sleep, I'll—"

"Be arrested for treason," Castiel hisses, forcing a hand over his mouth. " _Quiet_!"

Dean stills for only a moment, and in that time Cas feels something wet and slimy against his palm. "Augh!" the elfling exclaims, jumping back in surprise.

Dean _licked_ him.

"HA!" the teen cheers in triumph. He gets two steps before Castiel tackles him to the floor.

Cas's front is to his captive's back, palm covering soft pink lips. This time, when Dean licks his hand (with twice as much saliva), Cas is ready. “I've cleaned your vomit,” he grunts, unimpressed. “Do you really think your spit is going to scare me?”

Dean nips his hand in response.

Cas nips Dean's _earlobe_ in warning.

But interestingly enough, that doesn't seem to have the desired effect at all. Dean blushes wildly under Castiel's hands, going completely taut and still. Cas spends a moment trying to figure out why but quickly concedes defeat, palm falling away. He is tired. He is sore. He just wants this day to be over. “We’ve already gone to see Michael once today, please," he mumbles, slouching into Dean's body and burying his face in his neck. “I don’t need a repeat performance.”

"He hurt you, Cas."

"So?" the elfling mutters petulantly. "It'll fade. Besides, he hurt you even more seriously."

Dean laughs, nervous. "Guess now I know how you felt when you saw the bruises, huh?"

"Mmhm." Nuzzling further into his friend’s warmth, Castiel closes his eyes.

"No, hey, don’t sleep. C’mon, Cas, we gotta get that fixed. Where's Gabe—"

"No."

"What do you mean, no?"

“I mean,” Castiel grumbles, eyes still closed. “I want everyone to see it. I want them to know.”

"It could get infected."

"It won't."

“Michael will get angry. Smaug-level angry.”

“Let him.”

Dean sighs. "At the very least, we gotta put some ice on it."

With another hum, Cas moves his shoulders as if getting comfortable. "You go. I'll stay here."

"You're so lazy," Dean teases. He flicks Castiel's nose with a smile. "Be right back."

"Oh, and Dean?" Cas calls. The other stops halfway down the hall. " _Only_ ice, please. Don't go looking for trouble."

"Me? _Never_."

Castiel doesn’t sleep as he waits for Dean’s return. He’s too concerned the other boy is going to do something to get himself killed, and too exhausted to go looking for him.

 

~ * ~

 

“I come bearing gifts.”

Cas is not entirely sure why they don’t go into one of their rooms, but he and Dean have a picnic of bread, grapes, and hard cheese in the empty hallway. They rib each other good-naturedly as they eat, throwing grapes and attempting to catch them with their mouths. At one point, Sam sits with them and cuddles as they talk, but he soon drifts off and stumbles into the bedroom to sleep. Dean and Cas continue to lay on the floor, absently shoving food into their mouths.

“I want to hurt him,” Dean mutters randomly around a hollowed out crust of bread.

“So do I,” Castiel sighs. “But he is my eldest brother, and as my blood, I—”

“That’s orc shit. Your family doesn’t end in blood, Cas, and it doesn’t have to start there. You said it yourself: Michael doesn’t treat you like family. He… He’s—”

“Awful?” Cas supplies, nibbling on a cube of cheddar. “Insensitive? Egotistical? A colossal and utter dragon penis?”

“Yeah, I guess that pretty much sums him up.”

Dean and Cas finish their meal and clean up shortly after, leaving themselves to awkwardly stand by the doors of their rooms for the second time in a little over forty-eight hours. It’s Castiel who makes the first move this time, stepping forward to hug with friend with sigh. “Thank you, _Imlad_ ,” he murmurs sweetly. “You truly have the kindest heart."

Dean rolls his eyes but pulls away with a slight dusting of pink at the apples of his cheeks, eyes serious and despite his easy smile. “Is that why you call me _mîl hûn_?”

Castiel is certain he blushes to the tips of his hair.

“C’mon, did you seriously think I wouldn’t find out what it meant as soon as I could?” Dean asks with a raised brow. His voice turns soft. “…You’re the one with the kind heart, Castiel. I owe you everything.”

Before Cas can protest, he feels lips plant a tender kiss to his injured cheek.

“’Night.”

But Dean can’t just _leave_.

“W-Wait! Wait.” Cas manages to grab his friend’s hand and spin him around, their bodies knocking together. Poor Dean must be sore beyond belief from all the abuse he’s suffered today, but Castiel can’t seem to find the words to apologize for yet another instance of sudden and intense contact. “You owe me nothing,” he says instead, voice low but firm. It’s the truth.

Dean smiles. When he breathes, Cas can feel it against his lips.

“I should go.”

“Alright.”

Neither move. In fact, they spend a good while simply staring at each other, swaying into shared space as their fingers brush and hips bump. They break into identical, simultaneous grins after a time, Dean huffing a laugh as Castiel presses their foreheads together. “Goodnight,” the elfling whispers, pulling away.

Dean bites his lip. “Night.”

When Cas tucks himself into bed that night, it’s with a large, face-splitting smile and a wildly beating heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Imlad_ = Dean  
>  _Esseru_ = Sam  
>  _Mîl hûn_ = Kind Heart


	9. The Bow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean learns a new skill, and Cas learns the finer points of distinction of the English language.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS ONE HAS BEEN EDITED YAY! There are no translations in this chapter, and I apologize for the wait. Thank you for being so patient :)
> 
> _Imlad_ = Dean  
>  _Esseru_ = Sam  
>  _Mîl hûn_ = Kind Heart
> 
> PS. You'll also notice that the rating has changed. There's some NSFW stuff at the end that is the reason for that. Feel free to skip that scene but read the very end it because it's important!
> 
> PPS. **The absolute fantastic fanart is by[Ali](http://dudewheresmypie.tumblr.com/post/123168339820/inspired-by-part-9-of-the-middle-earthau-by-my). Ten million thank yous!**

Castiel narrows his eyes, breathing steadily. He anchors his right hand at his cheek and relaxes his bow arm.

Something is off.

Cas's right ear twitches as he holds position, closing his eyes to concentrate more fully. It's coming from behind—the West, of that much the elfling is certain, and it thinks itself stealthy. It's not; the leaves dragging along its outerwear are a dead giveaway.

With a grin, Castiel whirls around quick as you please, firing directly into the brush in the blink of an eye. The arrow whizzes past leaf and tree, meeting its intended target with a 'snick' and a yelp.

Cas smirks. "What have I told you about sneaking up on me, Dean?"

"You almost _killed_ me!"

"Don't be so dramatic," Cas speaks absently to the trees. He reaches back into his quiver for another arrow. "I missed your left eye by a good inch."

There's a grunt while Dean pulls the projectile from the bark of a tree, and Castiel grins at the sound. The elfling loads another bolt in one smooth, practiced movement, and looses a moment later. A perfect shot.

By the time Dean emerges from the brush, Castiel has embedded three arrows, all within millimetres of each other, into the bulls-eye. Cas frowns at the space between his bolts and narrows his eyes, walking forward to retrieve them.

"So much for archery safety, huh Cas?" Dean asks obnoxiously. "You always almost kill your friends?"

"You were sneaking. No matter the situation, I've warned you not to sneak."

"I was gonna _surprise_ you!"

With a shrug, Castiel deftly removes his projectiles. "I surprised you first."

"Yeah, by almost giving me a damn heart-attack."

Castiel rolls his eyes and steps back, walking to the very edge of the small clearing to start over. On a whim, he nocks and aims at a high, thin branch of the same tree, easily hitting his target. He looses the next arrow and makes a perfect bulls-eye with a sigh.

There has to be a more challenging way to do this.

“…So, uh, nice place you got here.”

“Hmm?” Moving back, Cas gets a running start, planting his feet twenty meters away from the target and springing up. He tucks his legs and arms into his body as he somersaults, immediately brandishing his bow, nocking and loosing upon his firm landing. In the blink of an eye, Castiel has an arrow embedded into the edge of the bulls-eye. Good; something to work on. Progress.

“ _Son of an orc_.”

Cas whirls around, flushed to the tips of his ears and with wide, blue eyes. He’d completely forgotten Dean. His chest heaves as if he’s just run a marathon not because of physical exertion, but the surprise and odd pleasure he feels at his friend’s voice. Dean has never seen him train before—not that he does it formally anymore, Castiel is three years to adulthood and long past the need of a training maester—but the mortal has been forbidden to witness Cas’s sessions. This is, of course, Michael’s doing, and the elfling wonders if his own pleasure is due to Dean’s presence and obvious impression by his skills, or his clear disregard for Michael’s orders. Perhaps it’s a bit of both. Biting his lip, Castiel moves his shoulders up and down in a little shrug, unsure of how to proceed. He feels awkward under the awe of green eyes and fidgets in a way wholly unbefitting of one of the _edhellen_ ; rubbing the back of his clothed calf with the top of a bare, dirty foot.

“What else can you do?”

As Dean grins, Cas smiles back.

It turns out he can do a lot. Made more confident and cocky by Dean’s presence, Castiel pushes himself to do things never would have thought of before, and is goaded into risky, more dangerous drills. The elfling stands during one such moment, blinking rapidly to try and dispel the slight tremble of his limbs.

Dean, meanwhile, grins as if he doesn’t have an apple on his head.

“This is dangerous,” Cas mutters, trying to relax his shoulders and drawing arm. He chews his lip, but he’s shaken. Dean stands tall and still, completely trusting.

“C’mon,” he teases. “You can do it blind in a forest but not when I’m right in front of you?”

“Different. That was instinct; I shot without thinking, but now I can’t seem to turn off my mind.”

Dean closes his eyes. “Better?”

“No,” Castiel admits. “Please, look at me.”

“You can do this.”

With a deep breath, Cas plants his feet more firmly and nods. His eyes slip shut.

“Uh, Cas?” Dean says, suddenly panicked. “I didn’t mean—”

There’s a snick and a thump, and Castiel’s dominant eye flicks open.

Dean holds his breath and trembles, green eyes wide and a shaky smile on his face. His skin is pale under a nervous flush, and Cas barely sees the speared apple where it’s stuck to the tree, such is his haste to ensure his friend’s wellbeing. Immediately, the elfling drops his bow and quiver to rush to him, hands carefully cupping his friend’s face. “Dean? Dean!”

Dean blinks once, twice, and a wide smile blooms across his features. With a breathless, punched out bark of a laugh, he presses their heads together and wraps his arms around the elfling’s waist, squeezing his eyes shut as he releases an unsteady breath of joyous relief. Castiel’s fingers immediately move to tangle in lighter hair and he shares a smile of his own, thankful and giddy as their bodies bump and press together. There’s something about Dean’s heat that is different, here; that sets his body aflame rather than seeps warmth into his soul. Perhaps it’s the adrenaline, or the excitement of what has just transpired, but whatever it is, it’s incredibly pleasurable. Dean must feel it, too, for he pushes their bodies together more solidly, seeking as much contact as possible. “Teach me,” he breathes.

To do so would be a betrayal of the _edhellen_.

The elves have always been a secretive people, but Cas knows there is nothing more important to his species than the bow; its design, its creation, the way it is used… there is nothing more elvish than learning the art of archery. If Michael found out Dean was currently with him, the repercussions would be extreme; Castiel cannot imagine what would happen if his brother knew Dean was actually being instructed in the bow: death, possibly. Banishment, most likely. Unless he was kept in the dark.

The elfling steps away from his friend only to reach for his weapon, holding it out with a sure grip. When Dean’s hands touch the smooth, blanched wood Cas carved himself, he feels something shift inside him: the consequence of a choice, maybe, or the birth of guilt. The elfling imagines the points of his ears turning soft and round and can’t bring himself to feel loss. Fretting over things that will not come to pass is no use:

Michael will never know.

 

~ * ~

 

 

“Wider stance.”

Dean shuffles minimally, protesting when Cas rolls his eyes and kicks at his shoes to gain the proper distance between them. He grumbles something unintelligible, the thing made less effective by the quirk of his lips. Dean shakes his hips a little as if to solidify his footing and Castiel raises an amused brow. “What are you doing?”

“Getting settled.”

“By shaking your hips? That does nothing, Dean.”

“Yeah, it does, Cas.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Stepping forward, the elfling presses himself to Dean’s back, hands on the other’s hips to still them. “You need to be one straight line,” he instructs. “When you hold your bow and draw, you should _be_ the arrow; a single consciousness looking towards the target… do _not_ move your hips.”

Dean shakes simply because Cas tells him not to, inadvertently grinding his posterior back into the other’s groin. The feel of Dean’s warmth and sturdiness causes Castiel to gasp even with his heavier training gear. He immediately steps away, wiping his suddenly sweating palms on his pants as he clears his throat. His cheeks, along with Dean’s, are pink. “Be serious,” Cas says hoarsely, nodding at the bow in his hands. “Draw.”

Dean is so stiff, he’s more likely to snap the bowstring on his arm than shoot straight.

“You need to relax,” Cas tells him from a distance, now hesitant to touch.

Dean rolls his shoulders. “I am relaxed.”

“You’re not. You’ll hurt yourself like that.” The elfling steps forward, cautiously brushing fingers across _Imlad_ ’s arm. “You have to relax your bow and string arms,” he murmurs. “Let your shoulders drop. You’ll never be able to make a target if they’re touching your ears.” Cas watches in amazement as Dean’s body moves the way he bids it, getting into a near perfect stance. “Hold,” he says, moving back to admire his work. Dean’s anchoring hand is slightly off, but that will be corrected once he finally has a bolt nocked. Nodding to himself, the elfling smiles. “Good. Get back into a relaxed position. Do not loose.”

“Why not? It’s not like I’ll hurt anyone.”

“You’ll hurt my bow, Dean. _Do not loose_.”

Dean releases position slowly.

“Very good,” Cas praises. “I want you to mimic that stance three times before we move on to arrows.”

_Imlad_ rolls his eyes in exasperation but does as he’s told, placing his feet apart and drawing. He’s less tense, but Castiel has to slightly fix the position of his arms. “Strong core,” the elfling mutters, pressing them together from behind once more. He curls an arm around the other’s waist and presses a hand to Dean’s abdomen. “You want to be as immovable as a mountain. If I push you, you should not sway.” Through the material of a shirt, Cas can feel abdominal muscle shift and contract under his fingers. He smiles, feeling infinitely warmer than he did five minutes ago. They’re so _close_ and Dean is strong under his hands besides. He smells like sweat and lavender, and Castiel has the odd urge to press his mouth to the back of his neck, tasting and breathing him in.

He almost does, too, a hair’s breadth away from it before he stops himself, embarrassed and confused. In response to their closeness, Cas feels Dean lean back into his body hips first, and the elfling responds in kind. Pleasure hits his system like a shock. It zings through his veins, lighting him up from the inside out. Castiel’s head falls to Dean’s neck with a bitten lip, and Dean mouth opens in a little gasp. His arms are slack against the bow; his stance completely dissolved.

“O-Once more?” the elfling asks, swaying them back into place. Dean nods against him, and Cas can feel, head to toe, when he draws. _Oh Eru_. Castiel’s stomach jumps in time with his heart, and he forces himself to step back. The elfling may not be wholly knowledgeable with regards to desire, but Cas _knows_ this feeling. He gets it in dreams, when shadows move gold-green and love him until he’s strung out desperate: when he wakes with a hand on himself, eager for release. Castiel closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, thinking of Michael to calm himself down.

"Cas?" Dean asks hesitantly. Baby blues flick open to reveal the other boy bright red and nervously toeing the ground.

"Fine," Castiel waves off, smiling. He rushes to his quiver and pulls an arrow. "You'll rest the point of the bolt on this shelf right here," Cas points to the carved ridge in his bow. "Nocking is the act of placing your bolt on the shelf and slotting the string into its end. Be _sure_ that the bowstring slides into the slit of the arrow here. Mine are all raven feathers, but some have a mix. If that's the case, it will always be two parts to one in terms of bird species, and you want the odd feather to be facing you, always."

"Got it."

"Good. Nock."

Dean nocks.

"Very good. Draw."

The moment Dean draws, his arrow slips off its shelf. It's a common blunder, and Cas can't help but grin affectionately. "Try drawing more slowly."

Dean makes a sound of frustration. "It doesn't look as awesome that way."

“You look awesome whatever you do, Dean,” Castiel says, offhand. “But in this instance, you _will_ need to begin slow. Nock.”

Scoffing, Dean moves his arrow back into place, quickly drawing and loosing as if to prove some boneheaded point. Of course, Dean is not paying attention, nor is he concentrating on anything _but_ making his point, and so he does not aim.

Cas is very lucky he has good reflexes.

The elfling only barely manages to slide out of the way, eyes wide as he feels the sharp head of the bolt tear through his right shirtsleeve, drawing a red gash across his skin. The clearing is dead silent.

And then: “Did you just shoot me?”

Dean immediately drops the bow to the ground carelessly, causing Castiel to wince in empathy. The ground is still slightly damp from last night’s rain, and he would prefer that his most prized possession remain clean. However, the terrible treatment of his personal artifacts is soon overshadowed by the fact that Dean practically sprints to him, babbling and touching and panicking: “I shot you. _Eru_ , I shot you. Are you okay? You’re okay, right? I shot you. I hurt you. _Eru_ , I—”

He cuts himself off, green eyes turning wide.

“You’re bleeding,” he breathes, horrified. “You’re _bleeding_. I made you _bleed_ —”

Frowning, Cas looks down at his injured appendage. He confirms that he is in fact bleeding. This makes sense, because his arms is hurt. Because Dean _shot him_. Grazed him. _With an arrow_.

“Dean Winchester, you will calm yourself right now.”

Dean’s jaw clicks shut.

“It’s just a graze, I’ll be fine. Let’s just—”

But _Imlad_ is walking away, pulling a dagger from his belt and un-tucking his shirt to get a clean strip. He cuts the material in a quick, practiced manner, muttering to himself as he digs through Castiel’s satchel. The elfling looks on in confusion when Dean plucks a handful of leaves from a nearby plant. He pulls Cas down to sit on the nearest rock, extremely gentle as he undoes the clasps of the training gear. Castiel is far too bewildered to enjoy the feel of his _Imlad_ ’s fingers undoing the laces on his shirts, however, and sits, stunned.

Dean is caring for him.

“Chew on these. Don’t swallow yet.”

Obediently, Cas stuffs the offered leaves into his mouth, grinding his teeth against the vegetation until it becomes a smooth paste. Meanwhile, Dean rids him of his undershirt and pours water on the wound.

It’s really not as bad as all that.

“Open.”

Castiel pushes the crushed up paste between his bottom teeth and lip, eyeing his friend curiously as Dean dips a finger into his mouth to retrieve some. He then spreads it over the wound. He does this because, while human saliva is full of bacteria, elvish spit is clean, and the leaves will release their healing properties without risk of infection when crushed. Besides, chewing is the best option after a mortar and pestle. Cas is extremely impressed that Dean has calmed down enough to remember all this.

The mortal has not, however, remembered that Castiel can heal himself with magyck if he so wishes it.

Cas, curiously, is not inclined to remind him of this. Instead, the elfling watches his friend wrap the bleeding area with the strip of his shirt, tying it snugly and finishing up with a double knot. Green eyes assess the bandage with unparalleled focus before Dean finally leans back, nodding in satisfied manner. This is also the moment he seems to realize that Castiel is bare-chested.

He immediately clears his throat and focuses on Cas’s collarbone, swallowing thickly. Castiel offers a hesitant smile. “Thank you.”

“Y-Yeah, sure. No problem. It’s my fault; I’m the one who should be sorry. I mean—hey!”

Cas raises a brow from his seat, fingers still damp from the clump of moss he’d thrown at the other. It’s his no-nonsense look, he knows, and the elfling jumps to his feet. “ _Never_ use a bow like that again,” he says, low and firm. “They are weapons above all else, and deserve as much respect as the sword or axe. Dean, look at me.” _Imlad_ drags his gaze up form where it had fallen to the clearing floor, ashamed. “You hurt me and, more importantly, you could have hurt _yourself_.” Walking towards his friend, Castiel brushes graceful fingers up and over Dean’s untucked shirt, resting his palms on broad shoulders. “Pride does not matter to the dead, _mîl hûn_. Please, remember that.”

Dean stares with big green eyes, swallowing thickly and nodding once in answer. Cas smiles in response and steps away, walking to grab another arrow. He taps the shaft against his clothed calf. “Go again,” the elfling orders, holding out the bolt. Dean touches the arrow in confusion.

Cas doesn’t blame him: he must be crazy to willingly continue the lesson after getting grazed by his own dart. Nonetheless, the elfling is determined to teach his friend the one art he knows; to share his knowledge of the bow and therefore bring them closer than they were before—though from what purpose this desire stems, Castiel has no idea.

He raises a challenging brow: “Again.”

 

~ * ~

 

Dean is a terrible bowman. Where swordplay and grappling require strength and agility, archery requires patience and focus, two things that _Imlad_ possesses in short supply. Subtlety, too, is an important part of the art, but as the mortal hums and hahs and stomps around the clearing, growling to himself and picking up arrows, it becomes clear that he is about as subtle as a troll.

“This is never gonna fuckin’— _fuck_!”

Cas raises an unimpressed brow, but watches, silent, as Dean stalks from one end of the clearing to the other, swearing and gesticulating wildly with his hands.

“…This is so _dumb_. I can’t do it. I can’t. I’m stupid and I’m human and I’ll never be fuckin’ able—” Picking up a rock from the damp ground, Dean hurls it into the trees as far as he can, gritting his teeth. “Fuckin’ fucked… _fuck_!”

“Do you feel better?” Cas asks calmly as Dean collapses onto the ground, fed up.

“No.”

“Pity.” The elfling, clad in only his training breeches and thin white undershirt at this point, retrieves an arrow from the ground and extends both it and his bow. “Go again,” he orders.

Dean pushes the hand away.

“Dean.”

“No.”

“ _Dean_.”

“No, Cas! I can’t do it, okay? I can’t.”

Narrowing his eyes dangerously, Castiel purses his lips. He nods not because he agrees, or even because he accepts the utter orc shit of a sentiment, but because he is getting ready to make a point.

Nocking and stepping into the ready position, Cas looses without a word. The noise of his arrow embedding itself into the bulls-eye grabs Dean’s attention. Good. “You can’t do it?” he taunts, voice guttural and gravelly as he lines up to shoot again. Loose. Hit. Good. “You don’t think you’re capable? Perhaps you aren’t. Perhaps the child who saved his brother from the Greatest of all Calamities is, in fact, gone.” Loose. Hit. Good. “Or perhaps he never existed at all.” Looking over his shoulder with a little frown, Cas tilts his head. “What do you think?” With a shrug, he turns back. “Not that I blame you: humans become… fragile and clumsy with age.” Loose. Hit. Good. “You’ve probably already reached your peak. I sincerely hope that Sam can take care of the both of you because if what Michael said is truth—”

Castiel suddenly finds himself wheezing into the dirt.

He grins in triumph, grunting against the force of Dean's body as the other boy growls and pushes him further into the soft, damp earth. With a growl of his own, Castiel uses every inch of strength available to him to push away from the ground and roll them over. Dean grabs onto his shirt and presses them together to stop Cas from moving so much, and the elfling smirks as they tumble again. "You'll never be able to protect your own," Castiel grunts, pushing and slipping out of Dean's grasp. He crawls away and sits up on his knees. "Isn't that what everyone thinks? You're not strong enough. You'll never be good enough—"

"Shut _up_!" Dean yells, tackling him to the ground. But Cas doesn't let up.

"You can't do _anything_ , Dean Winchester!” he yells as they tussle. “You're held back by your own species. This isn't something you can _fix_ —"

"Shut up you _LIAR_!" Dean pounds the earth next to Castiel's head with all the strength he can muster, eyes filled with angry tears. It hurts to see him so obviously upset, but Cas keeps pushing. He needs Dean to say it for himself. Opening his mouth, blue eyes widen when a dirty hand clamps over his mouth, pressing hard to silence him. "Don't you fucking _dare_ tell me I can't protect my family," he spits. "I can do anything you can do, and I can do it _better_!"

Cas relaxes back against the Earth, clearly giving up as he looks to Dean's dirt smeared face. Confused, Dean eases up on the hand covering Castiel’s mouth enough for the elfling to push it away and smile. "I'm glad to hear you say that."

Dean lets go of his arms and sits back, letting his weight sit heavy over Castiel's hips. He frowns, and green eyes narrow before flying open in realization:

"You _jerk_!"

Cas’s baby blues widen as he sees Dean rear up with the intent to bear down on him, and quickly sits up. He pushes the other boy off of him, scrambling away. “It was for your own good!”

“My own good?!”

Castiel seeks refuge behind an incredibly large, old redwood, feigning right and left. The rigidness and wildness of Dean’s stance indicate his utter lack of control as he tries to come after him, and the elfling is suddenly aware that his strategy for this particular lesson could have been a little less aggressive. “You need to _believe_ in yourself, Dean,” Cas cries desperately as he fakes left. Shooting off in the other direction, he vaults over a boulder only to scramble up into a tree, looking down at the forest floor.

Dean is nowhere to be seen.

Knowing full well he’d be walking into a trap, Castiel only stays on his perch for a moment longer. He hits the ground with a small ‘thump’ and crouches, listening and looking for any sign of movement. Even still, Dean has been trained by elves, and he is quick when he wants to be, especially when Castiel is using most of his concentration to find a way of fixing his very failed attempt at a motivational speech.

It’s really no surprise when Dean comes from out of nowhere and presses him up against the tree trunk.

…But instead of yelling at him like Cas had been expecting, Dean merely dings his fingers into Castiel’s arms, glaring until the expression breaks in fragments all over his face. Cas feels his own heart break similarly and holds his breath. Brow knitting in pain, the elfling reaches out. “I-I’m sorry—”

“Don’t _ever_ do that again,” Dean grits out. His eyes are glassy and Castiel can do little else but nod, the movement rapid and sure. He wraps his arms around Dean’s shoulders and presses them together in what he hopes will be enough to comfort.

“I’m so sorry, _mîl hûn_. I was only trying to—”

“I know.”

“Please forgive me.”

Through his flimsy shirt and Dean’s clothing, Cas can feel his _naneth_ ’s pin push against his flesh. The knowledge that _Imlad_ is still wearing it makes the situation both better and worse, and the elfling pulls away enough to rest his palm over the small bump. Dean stays carefully still. “I wasn’t thinking,” Castiel breathes in admission. “I just hate how defeatist you can be with yourself and I knew this would—it… it was wrong of me, and I deeply apologize.”

Dean’s forgiveness comes in the form of a curt nod, and while Cas is disappointed there isn’t anything more, he’s grateful to be forgiven at all. The things he said—while he never meant them—were extremely hurtful.

“You know you’re my family, right?”

Castiel’s heart all but stops.

He swallows thickly, blinking rapidly before settling his gaze on the foliage above. Though he has always loved the Winchesters, and is sure of their love in return, Cas hadn’t realized he had distanced himself from them until Dean speaks. The boys have always been a unit, and as they’d grown, Castiel had, in title, simply thought they’d want their distance. Of course they’re all family, but what Dean is implying is that he’d risk his life for him… that he: Castiel, elf and lordling of Rivendell, is just as important as little Samuel Winchester.

It’s overwhelming.

Catching his eye, Dean bring Cas’s gaze down until they’re looking at each other wholly and completely. “You’re my family,” he says earnestly. “And I _will_ protect you.”

“Dean…”

“I swear it.”

Castiel falls forward, resting their heads together as he tries to wrap his mind around the depth of what Dean’s words mean. He’d never dared hope… but what does it matter? What is Cas hoping _for_? That his feelings for his _Imlad_ will be reciprocated completely and just as intensely? He has confirmation of that now and something is still niggling at the back of his mind, like it’s hanging by a thread or is incomplete. “I hope you know that I’ll protect you, too,” Castiel eventually answers, because he has no other words. “Both of you.”

“Yeah, Cas, I know.” A smirk. “Figure I’ll be the one doing the saving, though… I can get the drop on you pretty easy these day—Oomph!”

With a well placed pull of his leg, Dean Winchester finds himself tripped and on the ground.

“Easily,” Cas corrects airily. “You can ‘get the drop on me’ _easily_.” He purses his lips. “From your current position, wouldn’t you agree that’s a little… embellished?”

Castiel gets lunged at for his trouble, and it isn’t long before both elf and human are tussling and tumbling against the earth, playfully attempting to pin each other. The push and pull of their bodies is almost as good as the burn of the muscles beneath Cas’s skin as they grunt teasing insults at one another and mock each other’s strength. It’s something he hadn’t known he needed, and the elfling relishes in the primitiveness of it all: the contraction of Dean’s deltoids and the sweat of their skin and the smell of the earth.

He hasn't roughhoused like this since his twentieth year. 

They chase each other all around the clearing and into the trees beyond, grabbing and laughing and tripping each other like children. Cas’s face hurts from how hard he’s smiling, and his fingers ache in pleasure from pulling at Dean’s shirts. They’re out of breath by the time their playfighting has them rolling into a veritable pond of mud, but Cas manages to yelp anyway: “Argh! Dean—!”

Dean raises both brows from his relatively mud-less position astride his torso, grinning lopsidedly. “What?” he teases. “Your lordship can’t handle a little dirt?”

Despite having mud in his ears, Castiel can hear the dig just fine and grabs two fistfuls of liquid filth in retaliation. He raises his own brow and smirks, the thing widening on his face in time with Dean’s warnings: “No… no no no no— _Cas_!”

Cas smears mud all over Dean’s face. As the other flings himself back in an attempt to get away, Castiel tackles him into the filth; he raises a fist in an almighty battle cry as he does.

The result: two very dirty, very out of breath, very _giggly_ almost-men.

“ _Eru_ , argh it’s in my mouth!”

“Tough because I am _King_ —!”

“You have been usurped, Dean Winchest—oof!”

“I AM KING OF GONDOR HEAR ME— _urg_!” They're both slippery with mud, laughing exuberantly and uncontrollably as Cas manages to roll them out of the huge puddle and onto the grass, pinning Dean's arms above his head. "Aha— _AH_!"

With a quick shuffle and twist of his hips, Dean has reversed their positions. "Thank you, thank you," he nods to their non-existent audience. "It's true, I am the best warrior in all of _Imladris_."

"You're _crushing_ me!" Cas grunts, squirming under his friend.

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m all _muscle_!”

“Please,” Castiel wheezes sarcastically. Reaching around, he grabs two handfuls of Dean’s posterior with a smirk. “ _This_ is every sweetcake you’ve ever eaten and it’s _killing me_!”

“You love it.” _Imlad_ grinds down as if to prove his point. Cas's choked whine is the most exaggerated thing to ever fall from his lips.

"You've caught me," the elfling retorts dryly. "I love your large, sweetcake-heavy _ass_."

" _Castiel_." Dean gasps in mock horror, though his cheeks become mottled with a pink that travels all the way down to his collarbone. Despite the fact that his skin has taken on a rose tint during the past handful of years, Cas decides that he likes it; a flushed Dean—so red even the copper of his freckles are drowning—is undoubtedly lovely.

This train of thought softens Castiel’s face, and _Imlad_ ’s sharp, sarcastic grin turns gooey in response. Over the course of the next few moments, Cas’s hands trail along clothed thighs and laughter dissolves into soft puffs of joyous breath. These, too, eventually fizzle out, and for the first time, Castiel is hyperaware of their positioning.

They're drifting closer and closer, blue and green bright against the dark of the mud against their skin. Cas's heart is pounding so hard he can feel it beating in every individual fingertip, and swallows thickly as their foreheads touch with a light 'bump'. Instinct causes the elfling to lift his chin, their lips brushing in a motion that should be too soft to do much of anything, but sets Cas's entire body alight. He huffs a heavy breath in time with his partner, eyes turning wide as Dean's hands slide up from his wrists to tangle their fingers. Their mouths brush for a second time, deliberate, and Castiel feels a ghost of a kiss against his top lip. His own lips pucker slightly in a tiny kiss of their own, eyelids fluttering until his black lashes fan out against his cheeks. They open, wide and blue, when _Imlad_ pulls away.

Dean looks as shocked as Cas feels.

They stare at each other, bodies tensed and faces flushed in excitement and confusion. Something has shifted between them, though Castiel can’t put his finger on what. Surely one minuscule touch of lips cannot have such an all-encompassing effect? It can’t even be considered a full kiss! Half a kiss, maybe. Or a quarter of one. Either way, it was so soft and small the elfling can’t truly by sure it happened at all. In fact, it probably didn’t. Most likely, Cas is imagining the entire thing. Which is disturbing, but somewhat acceptable—Castiel’s thoughts are his own, after all. As long as no one else gets wind of this, both he and Dean will be safe from Michael’s wrath. Not that anything happened to get in trouble for.

Cas’s tingling lips beg to differ.

The elfling swallows thickly, looking to his friend with an expression that must read fear. Dean’s palm cups his cheek in response and the other boy leans down again, either uncaring or ignoring the way long fingers move up to dig into his hips. He manages a shaky smile. “You okay?”

“As rain, yes,” Cas answers, made breathless by their proximity. “I mean, um, ‘right as’ a-and okay… yes…” Dean’s mouth hovers over his own; plump and wet and equally as out of breath.

Castiel is terrified by his unabashed _want_.

The closer they get, the more the elfling desires. Hands on skin, mouths meeting; kissing and hugging and anything else Dean is willing to give him, Cas wants to partake in and wholeheartedly. He wants to hoard whatever noises he can coax out of him with lips and tongue and he wants—

What is _wrong_ with him?

It takes every ounce of self-control Castiel possesses to merely tuck a lock of hair behind Dean’s rounded ear. The other boy sighs at the action, as if it’s a precursor to something else, and Cas squeezes his eyes shut. “I… I think you should try again.”

“ _Mmm_ … what?”

“The bow,” Cas clarifies. He sits up with little effort, happy when Dean takes the hint and removes himself from his lap. Standing, Castiel offers a hand. “You should try and shoot again. I’ll work with you more closely this time, you’ll see. Your form is quite good, it’s your patience that needs working on, but perhaps once you make one bulls-eye the rest will come more easily: an incentive, if you will. Come, it’s this way.” Dean grabs Cas’s hand and is hauled up in silence, the other’s look of confusion plain on his face. They begin to walk. “We went very far, didn’t we?” the elfling asks. “Though I suppose not as far as we could have gone. And we’re filthy. I wonder what’ll happen when we reach home; nothing good, probably. Speaking of, what do you think of leaving after you make your first bulls-eye? I know it might not be fair but I’m beginning to flake. Are you beginning to flake? Mud has moisturizing and healing properties but I know that even the most nourishing of mud casts and baths aren’t meant to be kept on for more than a half hour. It’s been longer than that, hasn’t it? You know, when we get back I think we should—”

Castiel all but swallows his tongue when Dean’s fingers slide between his own. His steps falter, but the elfling pushes his feet along, coming to a halting stop only because Dean plants his own firmly in the dirt. “Are we okay?” _Imlad_ asks. He wears a concerned frown.

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Cas replies, manic. He swallows thickly and takes a step forward, tugging his friend along. “Come, we’re not far—”

“ _Cas_.”

Against his better judgement, Castiel stops. He feels like every muscle in his body is tensed to snapping, and he squeezes his eyes shut to try and dispel the discomfort and weirdness of this entire situation. He doesn’t understand what happened to suddenly make things like this. They touch each other all the time, and before, their lips had barely even— _barely even_ , and now Dean is looking at him like they’ll lose each other forever, which is painful and will never happen as long as both walk this Earth, but suddenly feels a lot easier than explaining whatever tight ball of emotion has begun to crowd his ribcage. It’s embarrassment and anxiety and fear all rolled into one disgusting package, and Cas knows the only way to take care of it is to hug his _Imlad_ or something to that effect, but that also seems to be the way to make _everything worse_. “I-I think—” the elfling cuts himself off, balling his free hand into a fist. “I mean, I need—"

Dean hugs him from behind.

Face buried into the back of his neck and arms wrapped tightly around his middle, Castiel feels his anxiety spike before deflating completely. He turns in place and throws his arms around Dean’s shoulders. “It’s not—” he chokes out. “I don’t even know why I’m—I’m acting like this. Before was—I don’t mean to—”

“Hey hey…” His _Imlad_ ’s face presses against Cas’s neck, and the elfling turns, heart racing. He hadn’t realized he’d been so worked up until Dean rubs his back. “I’m—”

“Don’t apologize,” Castiel blurts out. Dean freezes, but Cas can feel the other’s slowly blossoming smile against his skin. The elfling feels as if he’ll die of mortification, and quickly opens his mouth in an attempt to save himself: “We’re okay,” he breathes out. “We’ve always been and we’ll always be, _mîl hûn_. I swear it.”

Dean moves his free hand to tangle with one of Castiel’s own, pulling away with a bottom lip trapped between his teeth. “Good,” he replies, stepping back in the direction of the clearing. Cas is pulled along. “Good.”

Castiel feels his cheeks heat under the muddy layer covering his skin and grins, bashful. Without realizing, he flicks his eyes up and tilts his chin down in the very picture of coyness.

Dean’s answering smile is lopsided and charming, and he steps back again, tugging Castiel forward. He does this again. And again. And again until—

“Ah!”

Cas instinctively pulls his _Imlad_ to his chest when the other boy trips, both laughingly awkwardly at their close proximity. Castiel pats Dean on the back in a stilted movement, and green eyes roll in exasperation before the mortal shoves at his elfling playfully with his shoulder. “I was fine,” he grumbles.

“Of course, you were.”

“I _was_.”

“Mm.”

“Okay, you know what? Just lead the way, old man. I don’t know this forest, anyway.” 

Cas sweeps low in a sarcastic bow, the tips of his hair almost meeting the Earth. “As you command, my King of Gondor.”

“Shut up.”

“Language.”

The vice around Castiel’s heart eases: they’ll be okay.

 

~ * ~

 

“Remember what I said about your stance.”

_Imlad_ widens his legs appropriately and sets his shoulders, bunched muscles hard and tensed under his shirts.

“Dean, we’ve been over this.”

“Well it’s kind of hard to relax when you’re breathing down my neck, Cas!”

Castiel rolls his eyes and brings his lips to the back of the aforementioned area, literally panting over it with a smirk. Dean gives an undignified yelp and spins around, almost shooting his friend for the second time in the same day. “Cas—!”

When Dean discards the bow to grab Castiel by the waist and breathe all over him, the elfling shrieks with laughter.

 

~ * ~

 

“Use the corner of your mouth as an anchor.”

Once they’ve finally calmed down, Cas hovers around his _Imlad_ , making small changes to his arms and legs. Dean sputters at the mention of his mouth but moves as Castiel bids him; shivering when the elfling brushes the tip of his pinky across his bottom lip. “There,” Cas says, satisfied. “You… touch your drawing hand to the corner of your mouth to anchor it. It helps keep you steady.”

“Y-Yeah?”

Dean’s green eyes flick to Cas’s and the elfling feels his cheeks flush for the hundredth time. He ducks his head in a nod. Letting his hands drift to the other’s shoulders, he notices that in the places where Dean has scratched the mud from his face, he’s flushed, too.

“You gonna breathe on me again?”

Castiel eyes both Dean’s positioning and the target, shaking his head. “No,” he says softly. _Imlad_ ’s attention is wholly on him how, despite facing the target, and his stance is perfect. He has a clear shot. Cas’s hands fall to Dean’s hips and he, boldly, put his lips to the other’s ear. His heart is pounding uncontrollably as he whispers: “Loose.”

Bulls-eye.

The entire world seems to hold its breath for a moment, and then Dean is turning in Castiel’s arms. He hugs the elfling tightly, crowing a chorus of ‘I did it!’s as he hops up and down with his limited movement. Cas grins widely in response.

And promptly realizes how incredibly close they are.

From this vantage point, Castiel can see every tiny mud particle painted onto freckled skin. It feels like all the breath has whooshed out of him and there’s an itch under his skin that he knows he’ll never be able to properly scratch alone _._ The air feels heavy and awkward the moment Dean seems to realize this as well, and Cas feels his heart sink for some unexplainable reason.

But then Dean kisses his cheek.

Quick as you please, _Imlad_ simply presses his lips to the crackling mud covering Castiel’s flesh and steps away, rocking on his heels as one hand moves to rub the back of his neck “So, uh, you ready to go? I could use a bath right about now.”

Their hands keep bump all the way back home.

 

~ * ~

 

Anael does not appear to be pleased.

“Children! With _Eru_ as my witness, I swear—”

Though his ears burn with embarrassment, Castiel can’t stop the smile from creeping onto his face. He bites his lip to try and curb it, but to no avail.

“Is this amusing to you, Castiel?” Anna hisses. “Michael is—I have no idea where he is, but if he sees you—”

“Perhaps we should bathe, then,” Cas counters. “To ensure we stay out of trouble.”

“Oh, do not play at intelligence with me, dear brother. You lost that right when you decided to frolic in the mud! Besides, you are already _in_ trouble. I don’t even have the _words_ to describe how much trouble you’re in. Reckless—”

“We were just having fun.”

“ _Fun_? Castiel, you are both covered in mud and you’re flushed from head to toe! Not to mention your _bow_! Do you not see the Dean-sized handprint on the grip? It will stain, Castiel! It will stain and Michael will—”

“I’ll paint it! He’ll never find out!”

“He will if you continue to act like children! For all that rest in _Valinor_ , you are in your ninety-seventh year, and Dean in his eighteenth! You are both three short seasonal cycles to manhood and you’re more misbehaved now than when you were children!”

Dean steps forward. “We’re sorry, Anna. We were just—”

“Dean Winchester, if you complete that sentence with the words ‘having fun’, I will personally ensure that you spend the rest of your mortal life cleaning chamber pots. Now bathe, the both of you. In _separate_ quarters, please, and be done quick enough to clean the footprints you’re leaving behind. You’re lucky I don’t run to Michael this minute.”

While Dean begins to move, Cas stays in place, shrugging for a lack of anything else to do. “It was important, Anna.”

“With you, when it is anything less?” A sigh. “Go. I’ll attempt to keep our dear Lord busy while you clean yourself up. And eat something, please, I know for a fact both of you skipped lunch in favour of the woods, and I sincerely doubt you had the foresight or the brilliance to eat something before or during. Now, go… go!”

Dean and Cas scramble towards their rooms, grinning at each other. They garner looks of surprise and disgust and mirth as they all but race through _Imladris_ on muddy, slippery feet. “How much trouble do you think we’re actually in?” Dean asks as they round a corner.

Castiel purses his lips. “Not as much as Anna was implying, but more than you assume.” Catching a deep voice and dark hair from around the corner, Cas grabs his _Imlad_ by the arm and hauls them to the nearest hiding place, panicked.

“Cas, what the—”

“ _Shhh_!” A hand moves to clamp over Dean’s mouth as the elfling forces them behind a curtain. “Michael,” he hisses in the other’s ear.

Dean stills immediately.

“…And what of Castiel?” the elven lord asks. He stops in the middle of the hall. “I worry for him when Dean Winchester is missing.”

A second set of heavy steps come to halt; only Uriel drags his heels in such a way. “No, my Lord.”

Dean snorts and Cas presses them together even further in warning.

“What was that?”

Castiel squeezes his eyes shut, trying to regulate his breathing and stay calm. Dean shifts against him and the elfling feels heat pool in his belly. His eyes fly open in mortification.

_Eru_ above. Now? Here?

“Perhaps it was the whistle of the wind, my Lord?”

“Don’t be dense, Uriel. This is our resident heathen, I’m certain. Dean!” Michael calls. “Come out from your hiding spot!”

Dean exhales shakily against Cas’s hand and leans back further gripping the arm wrapped around his waist. Castiel prays to _Eru_ for strength enough to control his ill-timed arousal.

But it turns out he doesn’t need strength; all the elfling needs is for Michael to look behind the curtains on the other end of the window. He does so with a flourish, and both boys jump in their hiding place, blood running so cold so fast is kills his erection more quickly than anything else ever could. Dean grabs Castiel’s hand and squeezes, waiting for the inevitable reveal when footsteps echo across the hall.

“Michael!”

“I’m currently very occupied, Anael. What is it?”

“There’s an urgent matter at the East Gate. A possible orc sighting.”

“An orc sighting? This far north?”

“Yes. I’ve notified Raphael and the others, but we require your assistance.”

“Very well. Uriel, with me.”

The moment the trio’s footsteps fade to nothingness, Dean and Castiel slump together against the wall.

“You okay?” Dean asks, turning to look at his friend in the dim.

Cas nods and rests his head on the other’s shoulder. “I feel as if my heart is in my throat.”

“Seriously. Let’s get out of here.”

“Agreed.”

When they leave their hiding spot, their hands are entwined. They remain that way until they reach their rooms; at which point Gabriel emerges from Castiel’s quarters with a sweetcake in one hand and a smirk on his lips, right brow raised. “Well if it isn’t _Tuor_ and _Idril_!”

Their hands drop to their respective sides.

Cas narrows his eyes in an attempt to dispel his blush. Tuor and Idril were the first and only inter-species Bondmates in Elvish mythology: Tuor was a brave warrior of Men, Idril a beautiful Elvish princess. There had been Aegnor and Andreth before even them, but war had prevented them from truly Bonding and Aegnor died during battle. Castiel supposes he should be grateful to be compared to the couple that did manage a Bond rather than the one whose elvish counterpart perished, but it doesn’t make the comparison any less embarrassing and annoying. Cas doesn’t even know if Dean understands the reference, and slyly checking from the corner of his eye gives him no answers. Either way, Cas pushes past Gabriel, informing both he and Dean that he is going to be using the former's bath. He flakes mud onto the floor and mutters that his brother should not disrespect the fictional characters of their mythology, no matter how disgraced they are. Gabriel’s smirk widens. “Aw, Cassie, I am being respectful! You’re the prettiest Idril I’ve ever seen!”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Which one: Idril or Cassie? Personally, I think—”

“Is it your life’s mission to embarrass and annoy me, or is that the hobby you’ve chosen when you’re not being an utter prick?”

“Touchy.”

Violently grabbing clothing from his wardrobe, Castiel stalks out of his room just as he hears Dean enter their shared bathroom. He heads for Gabriel’s while his brother trails behind obnoxiously.

The moment the door is shut behind them both, Cas feels himself pressed against it.

Gabriel looks livid. “Do you have a death wish?” he asks lowly, seriously. Hazel eyes search narrowed blue ones and Cas pushes the other elf off, scoffing.

“What are you talking about?”

“Cut the orc crap,” Gabriel snaps. “As if last week wasn’t enough.”

Castiel frowns. Nothing of consequence had happened last week: he, Dean and Sam had gone to the crystal pools and he’d twisted his ankle while foolishly running on the water-slick stones nearby. Dean had carried him home on his back. Yes, Michael had seen them together, but what were they supposed to do? Dean had been kind enough to offer to carry him and Castiel had accepted. He had been _injured_. “Gabriel, I really don’t—”

But his brother is ranting: “…And now you show up covered in mud and holding hands like you’re freakin’ Idril to his Tuor! You just… you rub his face in it _all the time_ ; you’re not even subtle!”

“You’re not making any sense!” Cas frowns more deeply. “Weren’t you the one who said you were rooting for us?”

Gabriel freezes. “Little bro,” he begins, impressed. A smile Castiel easily recognizes creeps onto his lips. “Should I start planning—”

“Do not finish that sentence.”

“All I’m saying,” Gabriel says, eyes turning more serious. “Is that you parade yourselves in front of him and it’s dangerous.” Brushing a thumb over the mud-covered scar on Cas’s cheek, the older elf clenches his jaw. He’d been livid when he’d heard that Michael had struck his youngest brother, but by the time he’d gotten to Castiel, the mark had been past erasing. “I hate his ridiculous rules and ideals just as much as the next elf, Cas, but I don’t want anything like this to happen again.”

“If it does, it’ll be worth it.”

A scoff. “But hey, you’re not in love with Dean.”

“This isn’t about that. I will not let fear of Michael dictate my behaviour, Gabriel.”

There’s a raised brow at that remark, but Castiel doesn’t let himself think too much on it. Thankfully, Gabriel doesn’t comment, either. “Trust me, I’m the last person saying you should listen to anything that prick says… but be careful. He’s not above hurting you. Either of you.”

“I won’t let him.”

“Right. And how’s that working out for you so far?” Cas narrows his eyes in response and Gabriel sighs. “Just do me a favour and be more aware, okay? For me?”

“I need to bathe.”

“ _Castiel_."

“Yes, fine,” Cas waves off, walking into the bathroom. “I’ll be more aware for you.”

“Great.”

“Great.”

Cas closes the door.

There is no bathing water.

Embarrassed to be asking for something so soon after their little spat, Castiel pokes his head out with his figurative tail been his legs. “Um, Gabriel, it seems there’s no…”

“Already on it.”

“Thank you." 

He closes the door once more.

 

~ * ~

 

Cas doesn’t think he’s ever enjoyed a bath so much.

He lays in the water for a good ten minutes, soaking in the warmth and letting mud sluice off his skin as he settles against the metal-worked structure and moves his until it rests comfortably in the headrest. Lifting an arm, the elfling trails fingers across his own skin, watching the filth drip into the water below. He does a languid rub down of his entire body before letting his elbows rest on the edge of the tub, relaxing in the murky water once more. When the bath begins to turn tepid, Castiel dunks his head and scrubs at himself until most of the mud is gone. He then steps onto the stone floor and to change the water.

Gabriel had sent up enough for two baths, for which Cas is eternally grateful. He’s so full of filth that the water he left behind is an opaque brown-grey mix, and he drains the dirty liquid into the two buckets he’d originally emptied into the bath. Castiel has to scrub the basin down before he re-fills it, and is wet, naked and full of goosebumps by the time he does; it seems that even the fireplace in the corner of the room does not provide enough heat to warm him. It does, however, warm the new water just fine, and Cas sinks into the clean, filled tub with a moan. He undoes his braids and sinks down until he’s completely submerged, resurfacing with a gasp while pushing his dark hair out of his face. In no time, the elfling has a head full of suds and is running gentle, soapy palms over his arms and legs and chest. Castiel cleans in his ears and on his face, paying special attention between his fingers and toes. He uses the coarse brush to get at the dirt until his nails and the long sponge for his back. Cas washes every nook and cranny of his body until he’s well and truly squeaky clean.

And then he remembers that Dean is doing the same in their shared basin.

It’s a passing thought at the beginning: an acknowledgement at best. But then the elfling’s thoughts circle back once, twice, three times, and what started out as indirect, nonchalant recognition turns into something bordering on obsession. Is Dean finished yet? Did he have to bathe twice as well? Is his water cold? Is it as filthy as the brown-grey stuff found in the discard buckets?

How does he wash?

Dean could be a person who washes quickly and efficiently; a no nonsense, get in and out, no extra pleasure from the experience kind of man. Or… or he could be the type of person to languish, like Castiel. He could spend time washing himself simply because he enjoys the process of being clean. He could simply enjoy touching himself.

Cas sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down, taking a shaky breath. Unnecessarily, he looks over his shoulder as if to check if he’s alone. He is. Of course he is. He’s no stranger to arousal either, nor even arousal during a bath (once or twice)… but the object of his desires has never been Dean. In truth, it’s never been anyone. Castiel always imagines some formless, nameless person to pleasure him with fingers or tongue.

Holding his breath, Cas dunks to rinse the suds from his scalp, keeping his mind carefully blank. By the time he resurfaces, he’s disappointed to find that the hotness in his gut has not been extinguished in any way, shape or form. Making himself comfortable, Castiel bends his right knee and lets his leg fall open as far as the tub wall will allow. He looks up at the ceiling with a racing heart and prays to _Eru_ for strength.

All the while, Cas’s hand inches down his torso.

He draws random patterns across his skin, swallowing thickly when he brushes his arousal only to pull away from the growing hardness between his legs and venture up his chest again. When Castiel dips down a second time, it’s to brush through his pubic hair and press fingers to his shaft.

Would Dean start washing his legs or his arms?

Cas closes his eyes and swallows whatever sound threatens to escape his lips as he runs a finger from the root to the tip of his cock.

No doubt Dean would touch himself gently. He’d massage his limbs with soap and trace fingers around his nipples. He’d wash his own cock like he’d be fucking into his fist.

Castiel wraps a hand around himself.

He bites his lip as green eyes splash across the backs of his eyelids, coy and dark with arousal. Dean would work himself up like this, too. He’d make lovely little noises as he cups himself, grinding against his palm to start himself off before reach down and drawing fingers down his perineum and back up. He’d fondle his balls with one hand and wrap a hand around his shaft with the other, squeezing with a slight pressure at first. Dean would make it last.

Cas whimpers into his firmly shut lips and wriggles his hips as if to reposition himself, starting up a steady rhythm on himself. His free hand touches all over before resting, tangled, in his own hair.

Does Dean use any sort of special movement when he touches himself? Castiel imagines that he does. He would twist his hand around the engorged, blood-plump heavy head of his cock and moan beautifully every time. He’d suck sharp breaths of air between his swollen, abused lips, and press a finger to his slit when he’d feel himself getting too close.

Cas does the same in his own bath, grunting and attempting to swallow every noise that pushes up his throat to prevent from being found out. He begins to move his fist more quickly, working himself up to the crest of pleasure as his mouth finally falls open, filling the room with desperate panting.

What would Dean look like when he comes?

Gorgeous. Flushed all over and so deeply his freckles would be unrecognizable against his skin, and tensed in a way that would reveal every dip and curve of his muscles. His toes would curl, Castiel is sure, and he’d throw his head back and moan, loud and unashamed of his own pleasure. He’d be so beautiful, and all the while he’d be working his hands as fast and hard as he could, building and building and building until warmth would explode over his fist and splash across his stomach. Oh _Eru_ he’d be… he’d…

Castiel throws his folded leg over the side of the tub, sending water careening onto the floor as he pistons his lips in time as fast as he can. It’s difficult to finish just by fucking into his fist because of the water resistance, but after a moment of fumbling, Cas finds a rhythm between his thrusts and the fisting motion that works divinely. He breathes in gasps and breathy moans, arching his back and tangling fingers in his hair even more tightly.

“Ah!”

Castiel whites out.

His entire body locks up, toes curling as a flush runs fire down his chest to his groin, setting each and every nerve aflame along the way. He’s convinced he almost bit through his lip when he comes down moments later, slumping boneless against the tub. Chest still heaving, Cas untangles the fingers from his hair and throws the same arm over his face with a sigh. _Mmm_.

Left in the aftermath, Castiel is terrified by how calm he is. After all, something has changed. Something more than the fact that Dean has just starred in his fantasies.

Or perhaps it’s more of something slotting into place than simply shifting inside of him; like the emotion that has as of late been threatening to make the elfling’s heart explode has moved into a space of its own: a place without constraint. It’s a ridiculous analogy, especially because Cas is very aware that he has no extra place inside him for odd, heart-skipping emotions, but that’s what it feels like. He’s reminded of the woods; playing while covered with mud, gasping and leaning into each other’s space.

Castiel thinks he wants to be close with Dean again, and the thought is not nearly as troubling as it should be. After all, such proximity would not be a lesson. There would be no _excuse_ for such a desire for closeness; neither of them would be hurt, or crying, or in need of any sort of assistance that would require their faces to be touching.

Castiel is suddenly and inexplicably drawn to thoughts of the English language.

He thinks of many words: _affection_ and _beauty_ and _warmth_ and _pleasure_. He thinks about the seemingly random string of letters that come together to form meaning, and how each ‘a’ and ‘i’ has its very important, invaluable place. How each letter is vital to a word and a word is vital to a sentence. The difference between _love_ and _in love_ , for example: _love_ is… well, it’s simply love, but _in love_ … that’s romantic. It implies a Bond. And here, in a lukewarm bath made obscene by his spilled seed, the difference between the two seems to blur almost unrecognizably.

It’s very different to break the rules and love someone than it is to do the same for _in love._ That distinction is terrifying.

Yet as Cas stumbles out of the bath, he doesn’t feel fear. Nor does he feel anything resembling anxiety as he examines his naked—albeit somewhat shrivelled—form. He feels good; wonderful, even, and his quick heartbeat is proof of that. He _wants_ closeness and whatever warmth this is. He wants…

Kissing, Cas realizes, horrified. He wants kissing and touching and loving unbridled and unashamed. He wants….

Swallowing thickly, Castiel trips over himself in his haste to get to the mirror. His chest suddenly feels too tight and everything is hot and uncomfortable and wrong. Rubbing steam from the glass, Cas doesn’t have time to appreciate the sated, pink flush of his skin in the lamplight. His vision blurs. _In love._

Cas feels tears spill onto his cheeks and digs his fingers into the granite counter. He bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood.

_Oh Eru, what have I done?_


	10. Astronomy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the physical form is appreciated, Castiel has a breakdown, and Dean teaches him astronomy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, glossary at the bottom and hover for immediate translation! I am so so sorry this took such a long time... things have been crazy and this chapter was giving me major trouble. The next one should be easier though, and I'm super excited for it! Hope you all enjoy this one, and that it lives up to your expectations :)
> 
>  _Imlad_ = Dean  
>  _Esseru_ = Sam  
>  _Mîl hûn_ = Kind Heart

_Little is known of the mythical Idril and Tuor, the only surviving and Bonded interspecies pair..._

_Though information regarding the Bonding between an elf and a human is ambiguous, by observation one fact is especially clear: mated pairs consisting of one elf and one human can function just a healthily as two Bonded elves. While the biological explanation of this is so far unclear due to a lack of co-operating parties, it is certain that any coupling of this kind is biologically viable. In addition, humans, despite their tendencies to have multiple romantic and sexual partners, can be wholly devoted to their elvish Bondmate. The sole recorded relationship of this kind (Idril and Tuor) has been recorded as visibly fulfilling._

Castiel chews his lip so obsessively it’s reddened and swollen from the abuse. His nerves are fried from trying to pay attention to his research while simultaneously listening for any sort of possible intrusion, and as a result, the elfling is practically drenched in sweat. Grabbing a piece of leather from his pocket, he ties his hair up into a bun, wiping at his forehead with his sleeve. His fingers tremble where they grip the hem.

After almost ten months of searching, Cas has found it.

Of course, ‘it’ is a paragraph that doesn’t have any true information regarding the biological or even emotional complexities of a human/elvish Bond, but it’s proof. It’s concrete evidence that such a pairing can exist and function  _properly_ _._  It’s more than enough.

It’s Everything.

Castiel has to bite his lip to curb his smile, shoving a bookmark between the pages and slamming the thing shut. He leaves the rest of his research strewn out on the table he’d commandeered and sprints out of the library, tome clutched to his chest.

He has to tell Dean.

Cas bolts down South hallway, racing to the Winchesters’ room before heading out to the courtyard when he finds it empty. Ion is conversing with Muriel, and Castiel rudely interrupts them: “Excuse me, pardon me, have either of you seen Dean?”

“Um… no, Castiel, apologies—”

“That’s fine, thank you!”

He asks everyone he meets.

Of course, Gabriel is the one who knows, and sends him in the direction of the crystal pools with a smirk and a wink, both of which Cas ignore. He’s off and shouting his thank you to the wind, holding tight to the book in his arms as he slides down banisters and sprints over bridges. Castiel practically throws himself onto the well-worn forest path, far too excited and out of breath to call out for his friend as he journeys.

He’s almost there when he hears it:

“… _An Elven-maid there was of old,_  
_A shining star by day:_  
_Her mantle white was hemmed with gold,  
__Her shoes of silver-grey._ ”

Cas stops in his tracks.

“ _A star was bound upon her brows,_  
_A light was on her hair_  
_As sun upon the golden boughs  
__In Lórien the fair…_ ”

Castiel holds the book even more tightly, fingers blanching along the spine as he ducks behind the nearest tree to creep along silently. It’s Dean’s voice, Cas knows it is; he’d recognize the warm, slightly off-key tone of it anywhere, just as he recognizes the song.

“The Song of Nimrodel” is the tale of two elvish lovers—Amroth and Nimrodel—who ran away from _Lothlórien_. Nimrodel, terrified that the elvish refugees from Beleriand would bring war, told her love she’d only Bond with him if he brought her somewhere safe. Amroth agreed, but on their journey to the Undying Lands they somehow got separated, never to see each other again.

Amroth gave up all responsibility he had in _Lothlórien_ to be with Nimrodel, and she did the same… granted, it was for an absolutely ridiculous reason, but it happened. Amroth _ran away_ for the one he loved. He gave up everything.

“ _Of old he was an Elven-king,_  
_A lord of tree and glen,_  
_When golden were the boughs in spring  
__In fair Lothlórien_.”

Creeping forward, Castiel soundlessly advances to the last line of brush, peeking out from behind a tree. He’s completely and wholly intending to give his friend a taste of his own medicine and startle him, when the words suddenly die in his throat:

Dean is naked.

Dean is _naked_.

From the tips of his toes to the top of his head, Dean Winchester is naked.

There is no point in praying for strength or control or anything else that would prevent Castiel from standing behind a bush, shocked: _Eru_ has obviously abandoned him. Everyone has abandoned him. Cas’s feet are fixed in place and his eyes are wide, and he is, utterly and completely, alone.

Suddenly, Gabriel’s previous behaviour makes complete sense.

The elfling scowls at the thought, cheeks flushing a deep, quick red by the pounding of his heart. Damn Gabriel to Mordor. Damn him to the fires of Mount Doom. Damn— _Oh_.

Currently facing away, Dean finishes the song with a lazy sway of his hips, hands lathering lavender soap in his hair as suds cascade down his body. It’s not entirely unheard of to bathe at the crystal pools, especially not the furthest one from any sort of civilization, but Cas had no idea Dean was one of the few who did it. With every inch of willpower he possesses, the elfling forces himself to turn away. He swallows thickly and clutches his book tight to his chest. He should go. He should go a-and…

Peeking over his shoulder, Cas feels his tongue turn as dry as the grasslands of Harad: Dean is built like a man. Gone are the gangly limbs and baby fat of childhood, the person scrubbing himself is made of thick, corded muscle that ripples down broad shoulders to a narrow, dimpled waist. Dean is rooted to the ground and pressing his toes into the grass like something unmovable—a statue of a mortal king, perhaps, or a bathing warrior.

A deity.

He could be, Castiel thinks easily. He seems to be woven tightly and with purpose: every shift of muscle beneath his skin deliberate and glorious in its veritable celebration of movement. Dean is both carved from stone and made of water, and while his body bunches and pulls with the grace of a god, his overall movement is steeped in the clumsiness of humanity. He drops his soap and bends for it, showcasing shapely, slightly bowlegged legs (from riding) that start at a perfectly round, freckled backside and _Eru_ Castiel needs to turn around _right now_.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t because he cannot look away; because Dean is… so _lovely_ to look upon that Cas feels he could do so for hours without getting bored. He won’t, of course. Moreover, he shouldn’t: he’s being disrespectful just by being here and witnessing the expanses of bare skin Dean exposes to the elements. It wouldn’t do to stay any longer. He has to get back. Surely _someone_ must be looking for him. Yes, he would do well to… but it’s amazing, how they’re so different. And Dean is exquisite. He truly is—

_Stop._

This impromptu ogle has gone of long enough. Privacy is sacred to his people and Castiel needs to remember that, without express permission, he is violating his friend just as seriously as if he were touching him without consent. This is serious. This is…

But an almost academic curiosity holds grips him like a vice. Dean isn’t _edhellen_ is he? Not truly. It’s plain in the bulk of his body. And humans bathe together at times, don’t they? Their rules regarding nakedness and propriety are less severe than that of the elves. Or is it the opposite? They can’t be more harsh than elvish custom; not when Dean’s humanity craves touch like he does. Humans are tactile and made for physical affection and _look at him_ : strong and broad and just as likely made for hugging than going to war. Castiel is so different with his long limbs and agile physique; on this superficial ground, they could not be more different.

With only eleven months to adulthood, the elfling is as tall as he’s going to get. His hair is not the pin straight, cocoa of his father and siblings, but falls in soft waves below his shoulder blades as his mother’s had, tying into braids that require being wrestled into sleekness. Where Dean’s light brown locks seem to be in constant disarray from some misadventure or another, Cas’s hair frizzes when there’s too much humidity.

Castiel, also, is slight. Not by elvish standards, as there are certain _edhellen_ that have spindly limbs and long, ethereal torsos, but from a human perspective—compared to Dean—Cas is… long?

Slender.

 _Lithe_.

His shoulders slightly smaller than Dean’s, though they are bigger than the average elf, and his legs, while thick and powerful, do not share the same muscular curves as his friend. Castiel is made for darting through the woods with a bow in his hands rather than wielding a longsword. His complexion is also darker than is usual for one of the _edhellen_. Anna’s skin is pale as alabaster, but Castiel’s is gold approaching a light brown from his time outdoors. In fact, it surprises the elfling that even Dean is paler than he is under his clothes; the human does not brown so much as freckle in explosions of nebulae and galaxies. If not, he burns, skin heating to a flush and tender to the touch. Not that Cas necessarily minds tending to the irritations afterwards; more than once, Dean has laid boneless, sighing and murmuring wordless nothings of contentment while Castiel's hands gently work lotion into reddened skin... and if the elfling infuses some of his own magyck to soothe the burns even further, then nobody has to know.

Though Cas relishes every moment spent alone with Dean, those are some of his favourites. The sounds, the smiles, the way sun-spattered fingers reach back to trace patterns on his kneecap; it’s wonderful in a way that makes little sense. Then again, nothing ever seems to make sense when it comes to Dean. Things just... are.

More importantly, their differences don't matter. Michael plays Dean's humanity up to something so vastly alien it’s terrifying, but Castiel often has trouble telling them apart. For some things, yes: people mature in body and mind all the time, and they’re sure to be worlds different if they’re not of the same species. Castiel's ears, for example, were always going to be bigger than Dean’s, and he’s always been destined to have better hearing and vision while his friend was, undoubtedly, going to be more bulky. 

But some lines blur until they're not there at all.

The fact that Dean bleeds red, and that he cries when he's upset are dead giveaways as to their sameness. He smiles the same way an elf does; lips turning upward and tugging out to reveal pearly white teeth, though Cas believes the expression to be infinitely more beautiful on the other's face. Dean has two eyes and ears and a nose, and he's smart and kind and wonderful in ways that have come to convince Castiel they're not so different at all. That they can't be.

Besides, love destroys whatever remaining dissimilarities exist between them.

Dean's incredible, unfathomable capacity for it echoes what Cas feels for him, whether they are alone or in a room with fifty others. Their individual quirks are nothing in face of the depth at which Dean has taught him to love. In fact, human quirks only serve to endear Dean to Castiel all the more. Cas adores the rounded shells of his human's ears and the quick, steady beat of his heart. He loves Dean's clumsiness and the way his palms sweat when he gets nervous.

He loves the way Dean opens up exclusively for him.

Elves are steady in biology and culture—they do not do well with change, but Dean's nonpermanence causes him to change constantly. It's exciting, and as glorious as it is terrifying. After all, temporary things, by their very nature, do not last forever.

This thought pushes at Castiel's heart until it's lodged uncomfortably in his throat. It's confusing and upsetting, because Cas is well aware of the fact that Dean is mortal... but suddenly, the thought of being without him is unbearable. Which is, truly, a frightening thought, because Dean is not _steady_. Dean will not last and Dean will _change_ and _Eru_ how could he have been so stupid to simply assume—

_Dean is not an elf._

If he was, it would have been simple: Castiel would have courted him properly and Dean would have accepted. There would have been no question as to _if_ they felt anything for one another because that knowledge would have come ingrained in their biology: Dean is meant to be with Cas, they are Bondmates. They'd have been able to feel their Bond from its conception and it would, for the first stages, have been all consuming.

But Dean is not _edhellen_ ; the elfling has no idea what Dean feels for him, or even if he feels anything at all. Perhaps Dean wouldn't know if they were Lifepartners; perhaps whatever Castiel feels is dampened inside Dean's chest until it's unrecognizable. Or maybe humans do not experience love in the same way? The book was useless on the subject of human biology and emotion. Besides, just because it said it _can_ work, doesn't mean it _will_. Dean is of his own free will. He can love whomever he chooses. Where is it written that person is Castiel?

Nowhere.

Even Dean's affection towards him is not a clear indicator of his heart's intentions. Humans are clearly more tactile by nature. Sam isn't necessarily as tactile as his brother, but Dean has always craved the warmth and closeness that comes with physical contact; that's just who he is. And to Castiel's understanding of human behaviour, that need for touch is completely normal: humans have multiple romantic and/or sexual partners throughout their lives, or even at the same time, so it makes sense that they would need physical affection to a more intense degree than an elf. By that logic, Dean's hugs and touches mean nothing. They only come about to fulfill a biological need; there is no romantic connotation there. Besides, even if there was, Dean would grow bored of him. He'd come to see how _Other_ Castiel is and reject him for a more favourable mate.

Cas looks down at the book in his arms as if it has betrayed him. Dean is going to take multiple human lovers and eventually settle down with a human woman with whom he can have children. Rivendell will be lost to memory, and Castiel... Castiel will fade to nothingness in his memory. He has no place with Dean. He has no place in songs of romance and love, not as abnormal as he is. His Bond, growing like a cancer inside of him, will remain one-sided and unrequited until he dies.

The weight of this realization is crushing.

Cas all but drops the book, stepping backwards in an attempt to steady himself. Even with the rushing in his ears and the sharp pain in his chest, the 'snap' of a twig beneath his boot is like a firecracker in the silence of the forest.

Dean pauses before turning around with a frown. Soap falls in his eyes as he squints adorably, and every part of him is gorgeous and all-encompassing. Cas can feel a familiar warmth pool in his gut at the thought. It's wrong. Everything about this is wrong; the staring, the touching, the loving... all _wrong_.

"Sam?"

Castiel does not reveal himself.

He bolts.

~ * ~

 

"Cas? You okay?"

Cas bites his lip on the other side of the bathroom door, turning the lock. His eyes are squeezed shut, and still he can feel wetness slink from between his lids and onto his cheeks.

"I'm fine," he croaks.

"Cas—"

"Really, Sam, I'm alright."

"Are you sure? Is it Dean?"

It is, but not in any capacity Castiel can talk about, and especially not to Sam. How would that conversation even begin?

 _Sam, I'm in love with your brother and have gone ahead and decided he's my Lifepartner. He has no idea, but I'm quite certain I've even begun_ Gwedh _with him, which is frustrating and confusing and should not have happened, but as it has, I sincerely hope you're okay that your supposed guardian and protector is pining over your sibling. I also hope you don't mind that I all but violated your brother this afternoon by spying on him while he bathed. I am now very aroused, very ashamed and have completely surpassed even my own expectations in terms of my abnormality. I have come to the conclusion that I am a freak, and am currently trying to will away a giant-sized erection._

That would not go over well.

"Truly, Sam, I'm fine. Thank you for being concerned but I just... um, I need a moment."

"Oh." A pause. " _Oh_."

Cas doesn't have to imagine the way Sam bumbles around embarrassed, because he hits the door.

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry. Sorry, Cas. You just, um... take as long as you need."

Castiel didn't think it was possible to be even more mortified, but he supposes one should never assume with things.

He _really_ doesn't want to deal with what's inside his pants.

It's inevitable, though, when thinking about other things don't take care of the problem. Eventually, Castiel is forced to take himself in hand. He makes sure his palm is not slicked and stays away from the precome at the tip, determined that if he has to masturbate, it will be pain as well as pleasure.

It takes longer like that, and is nowhere as good, but that's the point. Castiel takes a rushed, cold bath and scrubs himself until he's almost bleeding through his skin before slipping into a sleep shift and burrowing under his covers. Though he ensures his door and the bathroom are both locked, he leaves the balcony open for the sounds and the breeze.

Which is, of course, how Dean manages to enter the room.

He announces himself not with words, but the smell of venison, roasted vegetables and raspberry vinaigrette. Despite it being divine, Cas keeps his back stubbornly turned away. It's that dichotomy again: of needing Dean but having him be the last thing he needs, and it only makes the elfling feel worse. He hears the plate being placed on his night table before feeling his friend climb onto the mattress, fingers gently pushing through his damp hair.

Cas's resolve crumbles to dust.

He all but melts under Dean's ministrations, his muscles turning pliant as human hands massage his scalp and move to trace the contour of his cheek and jaw. "You missed supper," Dean says quietly. "Brought you some."

But Castiel doesn't want food. With everything that has happened in the last handful of hours, Castiel doesn't want anything but for his stomach to stop turning. "Not hungry."

"Cas, you gotta eat."

"I have no desire to, Dean."

"Force yourself."

Cas groans and buries his face in his pillow, biting back a smile when Dean attempts to roll him back over. They end up one on top of the other, with _Imlad_ whining about how incredibly _difficult_ it was to procure this meal and now Cas doesn't even want to _eat it_. He goes on for what feels like hours, until finally, Castiel sits up with an almighty roll of his eyes. He grabs the plate.

 

~ * ~

  

"So, what happened?"

Cas has worked through the venison and is currently biting into a roasted carrot, blue eyes flicking up in confusion. "I don't understand the question," he mumbles through his bite, taking another. His stomach is settling, slowly. Perhaps he'd actually been hungry. He’d only eaten a bowl of fruit and yogurt at breakfast so that would make sense.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Dean chides automatically. Cas raises a brow and tears into an asparagus. His human puts up his hands in a gesture of innocence. "I'm just sayin': your rules should apply to you, too."

Castiel swallows before opening his mouth. "Duly noted."

A grin. "Look," Dean says, making himself comfortable. While Cas sits on his mattress cross-legged and stuffs a forkful of potatoes into his mouth, the other grabs every pillow available to him and lays down, propping himself up to face his friend. Castiel makes a face.

"Dean Winchester, get your disgusting feet off of where I place my head."

"See, that right there? _That_ was disgusting. How many potatoes are in your mouth right now?"

"Not as many as could fit in yours."

"Ouch."

"Move your feet, Dean."

"Geez, fine." Throwing the pillows back in their place, Dean takes the plate from Castiel's hands and pushes at his knees, making a noise of approval when the elfling extends his legs. He then rests his head on Cas's thighs.

Castiel promptly forgets how to breathe.

He keeps carefully still, which is just another way of saying that the elfling tenses up so quickly, he's surprised Dean isn't expelled off of him. _Eru_ , he can feel him _breathing_.

"Woah, hey, you alright?"

A strangled sort of noise escapes from Cas's lips, but before Dean has the opportunity to think too hard on it, the elfling places his plate atop _Imlad_ ’s head.

"Wow, real mature of you, Cas. You trying to pretend I'm not here or something?"

It's a joke, but that is actually exactly what Castiel is doing. Because, maybe if he cannot see Dean's face, he can ignore the fact that the mouth of his Not Actually Lifepartner is about three inches away from his cock. Cas laughs nervously.

Dean doesn't seem to notice. "Seriously, what happened today?"

Castiel decides that ignorance, from here on out, is the best course of action. "I still have no idea what you're talking about."

"You only get like this when you're really upset, and you've been in here for... what? Four, five hours? You skipped a _meal_."

"So?"

"So?!" Dean echoes. "So, you're scaring the crap outta Sammy! And me."

"Well, you have nothing to worry about," Cas says, casually spearing the lettuce in his plate. "I'm absolutely fine."

"Are you kidding me?" Dean asks, incredulous. He sits up from his prone position, almost knocking the plate to the ground. Cas feels a knot of frustration and helplessness tighten inside his chest. "Cas, you—"

"Even if it was something important, which it wasn’t, I wouldn't want to talk about it," the elfling interrupts quickly.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't, okay?!" It feels as if some nonexistent dam has broken all over again. "I don't have to be strong all the time! I'm allowed moments of weakness! I'm allowed to sit here and skip one meal and cry and feel sorry for myself and I don't owe you an explanation for that!" He's panting when he's finished, long fingers wrapped so tightly around the edges of the white porcelain plate they become similar in colour.

"Hey... Shit, Cas, I'm sorry." Dean immediately wraps his friend up in a hug. "Of course you're allowed to be weak, of course you don't have to tell me. I'm just—I’m worried, that's all. Ignore me."

But Cas doesn't _want_ to ignore him. That's the problem.

He holds still as Dean jostles him while he moves around, manoeuvring until the human has him in the vee of his legs. Casually, Dean hugs him from behind, burying his face into the side of Castiel’s head. Cas is sure he feels the press of soft lips against the pointed tip of his ear. “Sorry,” he breathes.

Cas’s skin turns to gooseflesh.

He shrugs, wishing he felt nervous or scared or anxious—anything to stop the soothing calm from sinking into his bones. His body relaxes into Dean’s as if they are two parts of the same whole, and Castiel’s heart aches with it. How easy it would be to turn around and kiss him. How easy to Bond right here… all it would take is his consent.

“Dean…” Cas sighs.

He feels lips turn up against his skin, the boy in question absently moving to brush their cheeks together. Stubble rasps between them. “Hmm?”

Blue eyes flick open, which is frightening given the fact that Castiel hadn’t even known they’d been closed. His heart is racing, big and full with the knowledge of what he’d intentionally set out to ask, but he halts the words in his throat, pushing them down with a thick swallow. “Thank you,” the elfling murmurs instead.

Dean’s fingers stutter up from his belly to his ribs. “Any time.”

Words of love bubble to the tip of Cas’s tongue in response, pushing at the back of his lips in an effort to be released. Castiel stuffs a forkful of salad in his mouth to stop them.

He eats like a troll to prevent from saying something stupid.

It’s difficult, though, with the way Dean holds him; the way he hums a human folksong absently and sighs as if completely content with the way they are right here, in this exact moment. “Slow down,” he murmurs, and though Cas knows he’s talking about the rapidly disappearing salad, Dean’s words echo far beyond that.

“Would you like some?” the elfling offers in return. The words are resting heavy on his bottom lip now, poised to jump into the space between them; _I love yous_ and _you’re everythings_ and _never leave mes_. He hopes Dean answers promptly so as to save him the embarrassment of uttering some pointless declaration.

“I already ate."

With that reply comes the feel of them pressing more firmly together, Dean's voice reverberating through Castiel’s back and causing his heart to jump to his throat. “Th-That’s not what I asked.”

Dean considers the offer for a moment, freckled cheeks turning hot against the cooler skin of Cas's own. “Sure,” he says finally, slowly, _nervously_. “I mean, if you don’t mind."

Castiel is thankful for the distraction. Sighing in relief, the elfling grins and makes to move, fully intending to go and fetch another utensil, when Dean grabs the hand currently holding his loaded fork. In what feels like a millisecond and a simultaneous lifetime, Dean's lips wrap around the tines and the piece comes away empty. “Thanks.”

He's speaking with lips ballooned like a chipmunk's, and Castiel's answer is rote. It has to be, for the way he's whirled around and is staring: "Don't speak with your mouth full."

Dean's answering grin is full and green before he swallows, and it contrasts nicely with the raging flush of his skin. He doesn't say anything in reply, however, merely staring back with a look Castiel can't decipher. The elfling leans in closer in an attempt to understand it. Dean does the same.

This is just like the _Mel Ubed_ conversation and the healing thereafter, and the day he taught the bow. This needs to stop.

But every attempt to pull away only brings them closer together.

Cas's eyes become heavy as their noses brush, his lips parting of their own accord the nearer they become. Dean's mouth shimmers with oil from the salad dressing, and the elfling has the insane urge to lick it away. He wonders if Dean's skin would change the taste.

“...I should—I should get my stuff,” _Imlad_ murmurs, breathless. “I think that's a... I think...”

But instead of moving back, Dean only holds him more firmly.

"Stuff, yes," Castiel replies, dazed. The fork, still held in his hand, drops to the bed. "You should..."

_You should kiss me._

“Be right back.”

Dean, somehow, manages to rip himself away, the dart of movement causing Castiel to fall forward in his wake. The human tugs at dark hair and grins big and goofy as he makes for the door, gorgeously flushed and stumbling, drunk, from their closeness.

Castiel watches him go.

_Be right back._

How long until he simply doesn’t return?

This can't go on; not the touching, not the closeness. Castiel can't spend his life pining over a man he will never have. And he will, if he doesn't do something drastic; his biology will not allow him to move on or forget. Cas may not have space inside himself for a traditional Bond, but he feels a pull to Dean regardless; as if he had been made different purposely: filled with something his body knew Dean would not be able to give.

His love grows, day by day, hour by hour.

It has to stop.

There has to be more than one Filament reaching out to connect with him at this point, though Cas is unsure as to the exact number. Not enough for a full-fledged Bond, which is five; so more than one but less than four. Perhaps two? Three?

It would be agony to cut them. Or maybe not: for Castiel, the pain would be a certainty, but Dean wouldn’t feel a thing. That's what would truly matter, in any case. And it would be good for them. A one-sided _Gwedh_ is unheard of, but Cas is not beyond believing he is has one. If that's the case, which it almost certainly is, then wouldn't it be better to experience the pain now rather than later? Castiel knows he can salvage what's left of his heart at this stage, if he waits any longer that certainty will waver.

Tonight. He'll go to Michael tonight. No doubt the High Elf will be please to cut whatever diseased thing is growing on his soul.

Tonight.

There's a darkness that settles inside him and gnaws on his stomach and his gut and his heart; something that makes his throat squeeze and body feel heavy. The simple idea of severing all ties is akin to hearing of a loved one's death, and it only further supports Castiel's decision: if he waits until he's Bonded for Dean to abandon him, he'll surely never recover.

"...Cas?"

Though Castiel doesn't hear Dean re-enter the room, he feels gentle hands cup his face and thumb at his cheeks. Looking up, the elfling is surprised to find the world blurred.

He's crying.

~ * ~

 

When Dean was small, and after Michael forbade them from sharing a bed, Castiel decided to teach him astronomy. Of course, Sam often took part in these lessons as well, but what was valuable about them was not observing the placement of the stars in relation to their meaning; the value was in the space in which Castiel taught. Michael could not forbid him from showing his boys—individually or as a pair, the constellations they'd been seeing and drawing in their star charts. After all, Joshua's practical lesson during the summer solstice would never be enough to truly grasp the intricacies of the skies.

Now, if Castiel chose to teach on his balcony, and insisted upon padding the floor with bedding and pillows, that was his right as a mentor. If it just so happened that most lessons would land on nights during which either Sam or Dean would have nightmares or feel ill or upset, that would be nothing more than simple coincidence.

Dean teaches him astronomy, now.

He wipes moisture from Castiel's cheeks and sends the elfling to wash his teeth, grabbing his bedding and dragging it outside. Apparently, the only reason he left earlier was to collect his own sheets, and by the time Cas is done getting ready for bed, his friend is waiting in the safe-haven he's built. He carefully pulls the elfling down onto an array of particularly soft blankets and arranges them so that their heads are propped up on the same pillow; bodies facing one another and fingers entangled. Their appendages dance together in absent, practiced movements.

"Sam passed Michael's inspection today."

Dean speaks for something to say, and Castiel is grateful for it; even laying together, safe, he feels his thoughts pushing at his carefully re-established control. "I wasn't aware Sam had inspection today."

"He didn't."

Cas rolls his eyes. When seeking to become a Healer or practitioner of magic, a mentor has the right the perform surprise inspection regarding the pupil's work station and their working knowledge of all they've learned to that date.

Michael, not being Sam's mentor, has no right to inspect him without warning... especially due to his rank as Lord of _Imladris_. Traditionally, he is to wait until Sam's official examination before asking anything of his abilities.

Of course, the fact that Sam is human apparently gives his brother the right to do whatever he pleases.

"Michael needs to learn to keep his nose out of matters that do not concern him."

"Yeah," Dean shrugs. "But Sammy passed with flying colours anyway."

"He shouldn't have had to."

It makes him angry. Coupled with everything else that has transpired during this truly horrible day, Cas is furious. Mordor take Michael and his speciesist Orc shit; he'd probably gain pleasure from carving out Castiel's Bond. What a twisted, vile, ogre of an—

"Cas!"

Castiel immediately snaps out of his own thoughts, blue eyes widening when he sees how tightly he's gripping Dean's sleep shift. The elfling lets him go at once, rolling over to face his room as he tries, for what feels like the millionth time, to blink back tears.

"Cas, what's wrong?"

The elfling mashes his lips together.

"Look," Dean murmurs, "I know I said I'd leave it alone but I'm gettin' real worried." There's a shuffle and Dean is pressed up against his back, face buried into the back of Castiel's neck. "Talk to me," he begs.

But Cas can't.

How is he supposed to tell him that every time Michael discriminates against his species, it's like a physical blow? And that he loves the fact that they're different, but other people's prejudices make him wish that Smaug never burnt Laketown to a crisp, if only to save him from them? How is he supposed to tell Dean that everything is wrong, and will likely never be right again, because Cas is _in love_ with him? Because he thought, stupidly, that they could be Lifepartners? Because he had been so relieved that the fullness inside of him would not prevent a Bond between them, he had not been paying attention to if Dean would even consent to it?

Dean holds him like he is a child, curling around his body protectively and pushing fingers through his hair. He's quiet, but rests his mouth behind Castiel's ear as if he'll whisper something. With his eyes shut, Cas pretends every breath against his skin is a kiss.

As it is with Bondmates, the elfling calms in his One's arms within minutes. He's exhausted, and drifting off, too, when Dean finds his voice:

"I went to the crystal pools today," he murmurs, lips soothing against his rapidly flushing skin. "I've started bathing there... it's nice."

Castiel is rigid.

"And, I mean, it's not super exciting or anything," he continues, barely fathering at the tenseness in Cas's shoulders. Fingers splay across the elfling's belly in an attempt to calm him. "But a twig snapped while I was washing my back. I thought it was Sam, but he didn't answer when I called so it must've been game or something."

 _Yes,_ Castiel thinks, turning paler by the second: _or something._

"You think they would've been impressed if I went for a bath and brought home supper?"

Of course, by 'they' Dean means the royal 'they': the _elves_. In particular, those who constantly insult both Winchesters' abilities to hunt: Uriel, for example, and Abdiel. Hester. Rachel. Zachariah. Raphael.

Castiel feels his stomach turn.

He needs to lie. He needs to lie or he loses Dean forever; he violated his trust and his body by looking upon him without permission, and he still needs to lie because they can't part angry with each other. Castiel needs for his Bond to be broken on his own terms and he needs Dean not to hate him through that. Or would anger make things easier? Should he confess to anger Dean and therefore, possibly, somehow, make this easier on himself?

After all, it would benefit them both, and it is important to remember that they are an equal pair: two.

_Two._

Which means that Cas has no right to keep what he did from Dean. If he truly does love him, he must love him completely, and with that comes honesty; at the best and _worst_ of times. Castiel has no right to manipulate Dean's emotions by only giving him half the story.

"I was the game."

There is no answer from Dean, and Cas rolls over to face him. He's completely mortified, but his friend doesn't seem to understand why.

"I was in the forest," Castiel clarifies, ashamed. "I stepped on the twig."

Silence stretches out between them.

Though he knows he should, the elfling cannot wait for the air separating them to become as cavernous and empty as the halls of Moria. He jumps in as soon as his skin begins to crawl, hoping beyond hope that there is time to salvage whatever is left of their friendship. “I swear, Dean, on my eternal life, I was only seeking you out to show you—you see, I’ve been skipping my history lessons to research, and—but I promise, I did not set out with the intent to… to look. I didn’t mean to. And I know that’s no excuse, and I know that I—that I violated you, but please believe me when I say that I would take it all back if I could, and that I am so incredibly sorry, and that I never meant to stare, only that I couldn’t—if you wish to bring me to trial I completely understand. I acted abhorrently and I am so _sorry_.” Chest heaving, Cas lowers his eyes as is custom in this situation, awaiting Dean’s judgement.

But instead of yelling at him, or promising to put him on trial, or wanting his own pound of flesh, Dean Winchester merely chews his lips. He appears to be beyond embarrassed, and is in good company in that regard. “So, um, uh, what was the research?”

Castiel might cry.

“W-Well,” he forces out. “It was, um, of the nature of, ah, o-of—”

“Spit it out, Castiel.”

“Interspecies Bonding,” Cas blurts out, face on fire.

“O-Oh.”

Castiel readies himself with five million excuses as to why he’d been researching this specific topic, all poised as the tip of his tongue as he opens his mouth: _Inias spoke of it in Histories and I wanted to know more, biologically speaking; I thought I’d make sure to know in order to better help you and Sam; I’m not in love with you, I was just curious; Sam asked, I was merely doing him a favour_ —

“What’d you find out?”

Cas’s brain comes to a screeching halt.

“W-What?”

“What’d, uh—” Dean looks up at the ceiling nervously. “What’d you find out?”

“Nothing,” the elfling breathes, shocked. “Well, nothing biologically useful. I merely found out it works.”

Dean ducks his head in an embarrassed nod. “Yeah, me too.”

“You… researched interspecies bonding?” Castiel’s heart pounds more loudly in his chest than one thousand war drums.

“Well yeah,” Dean coughs. “I mean… what if I fall in love?”

Logically, of course, this makes sense. More to the point, it shows incredible intelligence and foresight… unfortunately for all parties involved, Castiel cannot get past the word _interspecies_. "But... but you're human!" He splutters.

It makes him just as pigheaded as Michael.

"Yeah," Dean says, the word drawn out. He speaks as if talking to an idiot. "That's the point, Cas."

"No, I—" With a deep breath, Castiel sets his shoulders. "I know that. I'm just... Humans have multiple partners throughout the duration of their lives."

"And?"

"And elves aren't like that, Dean."

Dean frowns. "I don't get your point. Why would I want multiple partners if I have a _melethron_? Just because I can doesn't mean I will."

Briefly, Castiel’s mind catches the use of the male _melethron_ over its neutral or female counterparts, and tucks it away for later consideration. "Of course, and I understand that. But for humans—wouldn't you wish to experience—"

"Cas, you're not making sense. Once I've found the person I want to spend the rest of my life with, I've found him, plain and simple. I mean, I only want one; I don't have to look for anyone else because he makes me happy."

Cas frowns. Of course. Of course it's that simple. "Oh."

Dean rolls his eyes. "You've got so much going on in that big head sometimes you forget to use it." He shrugs awkwardly then, body jostling against the blankets and pillows as he reaches forward, smoothing his thumb over the crease between Cas's brows. "I just figured... I want to know how it happens—if it even _can_ happen." A quirk of pink lips. "You know?"

It feels as if they're talking about two things at once, and Castiel's stomach flips excitedly at the weighted prospect of the second. Carefully, the elfling nods his head in agreement, certain any sudden movement will shatter the moment. "Did you... do your research with someone in mind?"

The fact that Dean hesitates—like he’s considering his answer, sends a flush splattering unevenly across Castiel’s cheeks. The elfling shifts on the blankets, moving his head imperceptibly closer as he awaits an answer. Dean bites his lip.

“No…” he breathes, face taking on a pink tint. “Why? Did you, uh—when you were researching were you…?”

“Of course not!” Cas replies, managing to sound both cavalier and defensive. Dean frowns at the way blue eyes skitter away from his face. “I was simply—in case, f-for… it intrigued me as a concept, is all.” Like winding weed, a great and terrible jealousy sprouts in Castiel’s chest and wraps around his heart. How utterly hopeless is he that he let himself believe he had a chance? He is _broken_ , of course Dean would never—

“I mean, just ’cause you’re an elf and I’m human doesn’t automatically mean…” In complete contradiction to his words, Dean shifts closer, shrugging. Though to the untrained observer he seems completely casual, Cas can see a thin sheen of sweat collect at his hairline. He’s nervous.

“Right.” Castiel licks his lips and Dean tracks the action. “That… that would be ridiculous.”

“Exactly.”

“Not to mention completely unoriginal.”

“Mmhm.”

“You can love whomever you wish.”

“So can you.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

They’re extremely close now, and Cas is tempted to count every golden fleck in Dean’s green eyes. He doesn’t, though, forcing himself not to run away with the warmth and safety of their nearness. He’s certain he’ll do something stupid if he does.

Like kiss him.

It’s all incredibly confusing, anyway; he and Dean speak one way and behave the complete opposite. Castiel knows where his true feelings lie… but where do his friend’s? For all the elfling is aware, Dean only views him as a friend and merely enjoys being close to him platonically. Cas cannot let himself be swept up by freckles or flushed cheeks or that adorable little quirk of Dean’s lips. He won’t ruin their friendship over his own inability to control himself; he’s in a big enough mess already without having to deal with that. “In any case,” Castiel says, more loudly than he intends. In what he hopes seems like a natural movement, he pulls away a little bit, just enough to get a better handle on himself. “Whoever you choose—human, elf or otherwise—will be lucky to have you. You’ve grown into a phenomenal person.”

Though Dean scoffs, his cheeks glow more brightly. “C’mon Cas, I’ve gotten a little bigger and a little stronger, but I’m still the same dumb human stray Michael brought home years ago. Now, I’m just… less little. I’m a grunt.” Castiel frowns deeply, but Dean interrupts before the elfling has the opportunity to organize his thoughts into something other than indignation. “And I’m okay with that!” the human blurts out, giving a crooked smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Really. But I don’t think I have the right ears, or skin, or anything to be attractive to an elf.” Extending a hand, Dean runs his fingertips from Castiel elbow to his shoulder and then to touch his collarbone, pushing upwards and upwards until he brushes the elfling’s ear and tangles in his hair. “You got really… amazing, Cas. I mean, you always were, but with your bow, and your smarts, and just generally all this…”

Biting his lip to curb his smile, Dean’s hand pulls away to motion to his entire body. “You went from, like, all awkward arms and legs to moving like you’re made of _water_ , and _I_ … I just got big. I’m not a strategist or a philosopher or anything. I’m a smith and a footsolider. I’m dispensable. And looking up at interspecies bonding stuff… I don’t know what I was hoping for.” Dean lowers his eyes. He clearly has more to say on the subject but remains quiet, picking at a loose thread on Cas’s shift. “So, uh, have you started thinking about your Lifepartner yet?”

_Yes._

“No,” Castiel murmurs.

_It turns out I didn’t have to look far at all._

“It’s just never really crossed my mind.”

 _It’s you_.

“Dean, you are so much more than a grunt.” The moment Dean opens his mouth to reply, Castiel slides his long fingers over pink lips, effectively silencing him. “You’re not dumb, and I don’t see how being human has anything to do with anything… but perhaps you’re right in that you’re the same in some aspects. At any rate, your heart is unchanged at its core, though I would argue that your capacity for goodness and love has grown to near unfathomable depths. And your mind is the similar; though it holds infinitely more knowledge now than when you came to me. Even without that, you’re still very intelligent; that, I grant you, has also not changed. But this is to be expected; you’re older, and wiser, but you’re still _you_ … the evidence of your development is not found so much in your mind and your heart than it is in your flesh. Like here.”

Castiel drags his fingertips up Dean’s bicep. “You’re stronger, now. Physically, I mean, for you’ve always been strong. You’ve always had to be. But in body, your legs and your arms have grown muscular. You’re a warrior, fine, and a smith, but that has no bearing on what is in your head or your heart. Dean—how easily do you grasp maths and sciences? You’re a natural at anything having to do with machinery and mechanics, and you _are_ a strategist. When we’d play games, you would—”

“Lose,” Dean interrupts. “To you. Every time unless you’d let me win.”

“And that makes you a failure? You are _good_ at strategy Dean… with the world I’ve grown up in, it just so happens that I’m a little bit better. You surpass me in swordplay and metalwork by far, but does that mean I’m not good at either? You understand emotions in a way I do not, but does that mean I’m callous and unfeeling?” Dean rolls onto his back as if to escape the truth of Castiel’s words, but the elfling follows, draping himself over his _Imlad_ ’s torso. “We all have different strengths, Dean; mine do not negate yours and vice versa. Not being the best does not mean you’re not _good_ … it just means you’re not the best.” Smiling, Cas walks his fingers up Dean’s chest and presses a palm flat to his heart. “You have grown in all the best ways, _mîl hûn_. This, and…” A hand slides up to Dean’s shoulder. “This. And here…”

Castiel lightly touches the bump of Dean’s throat, wanting nothing more than to kiss him there. “You are almost a man.”

When Dean rolls atop him, Cas is forced to lay back. The elfling is confused by the movement, but obediently exposes his throat while, Dean reaches forward to gently caress the swell, grinning as he does.

“You see?” Castiel asks, reaching up to thread their fingers together. “We’re the same.”

Dean blushes. He'd said that once... though he’d been trying to see what was underneath the other's towel. “Cas, you know we’re not—”

“Because of our ears?” the elfling asks sceptically. Though he remembers thinking something along the same lines years ago, he can see no differences now. “You have two as well, just as you have arms and legs and a nose. You have a belly button and you’re ticklish. How are we not the same? Who cares about your ears when the sun kisses your skin in a way I have never seen before? It’s lovely. And the scruff you grow when you cease to shave—and your _lips_ … any elf should be so lucky as to kiss them.” With a grin as soft as light of the setting sun, Cas drags his fingers up to tap the skin at the corner of a green eye. “I have spoken of your eyes,” he murmurs. “But I could write on them for days. There is not enough parchment on this entire Middle Earth for me to adequately express the beauty of them.” Castiel reaches up his free hand to brush hair away from Dean’s face. The other stares. “ _Ci milui a leich a ci muin anuin hyena sanya an ci_ ** _vîn_** _, mîl hûn_ ,” the elfling breathes.“ _A ci_ ** _athan_** _bain._ ”

“Just _look at yourself_ ,” Cas pleads. “Inside and out, you’re… you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever known.”

Dean’s exhale is shaky, and when he goes more than a minute without saying a word, Castiel leans up on his elbows to press lips to a freckled cheek. “Did I break you with that?” the elfling asks playfully, though his blue eyes are filled to the brim with concern. “Did I overstep?”

But _Imlad_ does not respond. Instead, the younger boy buries his face into Cas’s neck, breathing out heavily against the skin there. “I was supposed to be the one taking care of you tonight,” he mumbles.

Cas smiles. His hands being to push through light hair. “You take care of me every day, whether you know it or not. It’s alright to let me return the favour.”

A groan. “But you’ve returned the favour at least ten times over at this point!”

“And?” the elfling asks, brows shooting up. “All I’m seeing is that you’ll owe me.”

Dean scoffs. “Owe you? Owe you what?”

Castiel pulls back so they’re nose-to-nose, narrowing his eyes. “I haven’t yet decided. But I’ll tell you when I plan to collect.”

“Oh yeah?” _Imlad_ leans in until their foreheads press together, their mouths a hair’s breadth away from touching. It feels different this time; though the flip of Cas’s stomach is ever-present, and there is definite weight behind the action, it’s also playful and light. He imagines kissing Dean here would be fun. In contrast to the seriousness of the forest or earlier in the evening, if he were to surge forward now, it would be _fun_.

“Yeah,” he shoots back: a challenge.

Dean doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, his _Imlad_ all but flops on top of him, causing the pair to hit the blankets with a small ‘oof!’ They cuddle for a while; cocooning themselves in blankets and holding one another, fingers tracing and moving aimlessly. “…Dean, you know you could never owe me anything, don’t you?” Cas asks eventually, just to be sure they’re clear.

Dean only barely looks up from his place on Castiel’s chest. He nods once before falling back perhaps a touch more heavy than necessary; smirking when all the air whooshes out of his friend’s lungs with a cough. Cas flicks his temple in retaliation. Dean huffs a laugh.

“…Thank you for taking care of me today,” the elfling breaks the silence again.

 _Imlad_ yawns, but looks up despite the fact that he’s beginning to fade, green eyes meeting blue in confusion: “I didn’t do anything.”

Castiel shakes his head. “You’ve done everything.”

The pair re-settle in their balcony nest, sighing and humming in contentment as they drift off to sleep, breathing syncing as it evens out. They’re pressed together from head to toe, and more warm and safe than they’ve felt in years.

_I didn’t do anything._

_You’ve done everything_.

No matter how painful, Cas will not lose this.

He never goes to visit Michael.


	11. In Annar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Castiel comes of age.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terribly sorry for the long wait, I hope you enjoy this one! As always, hover for immediate translation, and I now have a glossary at the bottom for people reading on mobile! 
> 
> Also, I attempted to draw concept art for this chapter. You can find it at the end of the chapter :)

Castiel huddles at the end of the tub and refuses to move. It’s a special tub; huge and ornate and filled with water that smells of lilac and sweet pea. There are bubbles of soft pinks and blues and greens floating atop the water, and flower petals have been sprinkled generously over the multi-coloured surface. It’s beautiful, and it smells nice, but it would be a lot more relaxing if his sister was not standing at the other end (outside the water, mind you) with a washcloth.

“Castiel.”

“No.”

Anna rolls her eyes. “You do not possess anything I’ve not seen before.”

“Today marks the day I am _grown_ ,” Cas hisses. “I don’t need you to wash me like a child.”

“It’s tradition!”

“No, it’s tradition for _Naneth_ —”

“Well, seeing as she’s not here, I am taking her place.”

With a scoff, Castiel crosses his arms over his chest in a perfect mimic of an elf decades his junior. Water sloshes onto the floor and he narrows his eyes. “I will not expose myself to you,” he states, as if that is the end of the discussion. "But I thank you for the offer."

"Michael will not allow it."

"Michael does not have to know."

Twin sets of blue eyes stare at each other, challenging. Cas, stewing in his scented water, is not impressed. When Anna came of age, no one had to wash _her_. There was no mother to do it and no sister to take her place. This is an outrage. It’s his _hundredth_ Name Day for goodness sake; that’s why he’s in Michael’s gilded, ornate bathroom to begin with! As such a conservative people, this ritual has no place in elvish tradition!

Anael is the one to break first. She looks skyward, mouth moving like she’s praying to _Eru_ for strength, and Castiel purses his lips and waits until she's finished.

"You can pray for strength until this world has ended and another's begun," he says conversationally. To irk her even further, Castiel lifts a hand out of the water and examines his nails. "I will not allow you to touch me."

" _Eru_ above, you're impossible!" Anna bemoans. "A penis is a penis is a penis, Castiel! I assure you that nothing between your legs has changed so radically since the days during which I bathed you, that I would not be able to recognize it!"

Cas's blush deepens and he clears his throat, looking away. "That's disturbing."

“Please,” Anna says tiredly. “Don’t be ridiculous. I won’t even look—”

“But this entire tradition is completely unnecessary!” he explodes. “How is it that _I_ am not allowed to hug and kiss and show physical affection _with clothes on_ but _you_ can bathe me, a grown elf, from head to toe?! It's ludicrous!”

“Castiel, you know as well as I that this has nothing to do with feelings! _Sovallë_ begins the transition into your adult life. The entire purpose is that you are cleansed by the one who bore you before you embark on your own journey of personal growth of development. It's purely symbolic."

“Anna,” Cas says pointedly. “ _You did not bear me_.”

“Castiel,” Anna mimics. “ _How many more times are you going to repeat that_?” A beat. “Please, inform me in advance so I may prepare myself to ignore you.”

“As many times as I have to until you’ll go away.”

“Then I suppose Dean will have to hop in the bath with you when it’s his Name Day,” she counters. “Because I am not leaving.”

At the mention of Dean bathing with him, Castiel blushes scarlet, glaring at the triumphant raise of his sister’s brow. He brings his knees to his chest. “That's playing dirty and you know it.”

Anael sighs. Chewing her lip, she twirls a strand of red hair around her finger. Her eyes turn serious. “I may not be _Naneth_ ,” she says. “But I'm the closest thing you have."

"Anna..."

"This is important to me,” she says firmly. “ _Sovallë_ is tradition because it is important to begin your adult life whole and pure.”

Castiel feels his resolve crack.

"And if you insist on being a child about it," she continues more lightly. "I'll only wash your hair." Anna takes a breath. "I understand you're not… comfortable with me seeing your penis—"

Castiel blushes darkly.

"—But at the very least, will you allow me that? Please."

Knowing without a doubt he'll come to regret it, Cas feels himself nod in assent.

 

~ * ~

 

‘Regret’ is a serious understatement.

Castiel's scalp feels bruised and his hair has almost given up and fallen out of his head. The dark brown, damp mass has been washed the traditional three times (in accordance with the three points of the elderleaf, native and sacred to _Imladris_ ), and Cas smells of his bath water. Though that isn't necessarily a bad thing, it's stronger than he's used to, and the elf's nose twitches in discomfort; he much prefers his own scent.

"For the last time, Castiel: _hold still_!"

Cas grumbles to himself and resettles in front of Michael’s boudoir, rolling his eyes. He doesn’t want to sit still in front of some lavish vanity while his sister pulls his hair into cooperation. With the way Anna is yanking, Castiel will be impressed if he is not bald by the time he is deemed presentable. Scoffing, Anael tugs at a lock of hair in retaliation. “Stop being a child.”

“I am _not_ a child,” Cas grouses.

“Well, you’re certainly acting like one. You know how important this is _Aew_ … _S_ _ovallë_ , your hair, _In Annar_ … Have you reviewed your _Peth_ today?”

Castiel deftly avoids the subject: “All this pomp and circumstance is ridiculous.”

“Yes, I’m very aware you hate what is happening.”

Muttering expletives to himself, Castiel hunkers down like he’s lived twenty years instead of one hundred. He’s about to voice his frustrations for what feels like the millionth time when something in Michael’s mirror catches his eye.

Wild brown hair pokes through the door, _Esseru_ ’s face visible as he smiles and waves enthusiastically. Cas grins back but holds carefully still... after all, nobody is supposed to see him before he goes downstairs for the festivities.

Another stupid tradition.

The door cracks open more widely, Sam moving to the side to make room for his brother. At seventeen, _Esseru_ is tall and skinny like a beanstalk. The door is almost halfway open now, and Cas is proud of the way they've learned to sneak around; neither he nor Anna have heard a peep from their direction.

Bored, Castiel decides to test them.

He pulls the most outrageous face he can manage, grinning widely as Sam tries to stop from laughing. _Imlad_ , meanwhile, is—

"Out!" Anna yells. "You both know no one is to see him before _In Annar_. OUT."

Sam groans. "C'mon, Anna—"

"Nonono, don't you bat those pretty eyes at me, Samuel Winchester. You can see him when I'm through, not before."

"But—"

" _Out_."

"Fine," Sam mumbles. "C'mon, Dean."

But Dean is leaning against the doorjamb. He's got his eyes trained on Cas, the corner of his mouth tugged up in a goofy grin as Sam pulls at his robes. "Dean?"

A blush rises high on Castiel's cheeks.

 _Esseru_ looks between the both of them in confusion, and Cas blushes even further. He and Dean have always carefully navigated their affection for each other around Sam; as both Winchesters grew older, it diminished to near negligible amounts. Now, though, _Esseru_ seems on the cusp of understanding.

Anna mutters curses to herself and leaves Cas on his perch. She literally pushes both boys out the door and locks the thing behind her. "We will finish this _without interruption_ ," she growls, stalking back to pull on her brother's hair.

Castiel swallows his reply.

 

~ * ~

 

"Anna—"

"Stop speaking."

"But Anna—"

"Castiel, I swear—"

"Anna, it's too _tight_!"

"Oh!" Immediately, fingers loosen the laces at the back of his robes. " _Goheno nin, hanar_ ," she says sheepishly, pecking Cas's cheek for good measure. 

Castiel is not impressed.

 

~ * ~

 

Cas has been poked, prodded, pulled at and dressed, but he has finally been declared 'ready'.

He stands in front of Michael's opulent full-length mirror, looking at himself with wide blue eyes. They're made brighter by the kohl lightly outlining the line of his lashes, and the shimmering powder applied high on his cheekbones.

His robes are made of a fine blend of material that is soft to the touch, the ensemble pure white with blue embroidery crawling up the sleeves and bottom hem. Though from afar they appear to be formless deigns, up close Cas can see the elderleaf leaf of his mother's brooch.

Castiel has been given his Father's necklace and a selection of his rings to borrow for the occasion, though it is tradition he choose one to keep at the end of the night. Cas already knows he’ll pick the plain silver band with runes carved into its interior—the Love-Gift his mother presented to his father.

His feet are bare for the occasion, as it is important that an elf be united with and receptive to their natural roots during all major life events. This is a custom that has carried on from the time when elves did not have grand palaces and finery; when his people would truly live off the land immerse themselves in the natural world. It's one of the required traditions Castiel enjoys.

Symbols that connect him to the earth are painted on the top of his left foot, while on his right is his family emblem. Every House has their own design leftover from times of war, and during the Long Peace the emblems have taken on new meaning. Where they once signified a call to arms, they now speak of belonging and growth, both within a family and with regards to a Lifepartner.

Absently, Cas wonders what the Winchester emblem is. If one does not exist, Dean and Sam will have to choose something of their own design. Either way, it will be interesting to see how that symbol would pair with Castiel's own. After the official ceremony of _Gwedh_ , each symbol is painted on the other by their respective One. This is for no other reason than to signify the love the pair have for each other, as well as mark each elf as member of the other's family. Sighing, Castiel wriggles his toes. What would Dean's symbol be? Would it suit him as well? Would it be simple, or intricate? What does it matter if they're never to Bond, anyway?

It's Anna who breaks Cas free of his thoughts, guiding him back to reality with a palm on his shoulder. "I just have one last thing."

The circlet. 

Where Castiel's family emblem is something he inherited, his circlet is entirely his own. It's of dwarvish make, forged in the Misty Mountains, in the depths of the great halls of Moria. Though Cas knows how a smith works, the skill required for a High Elf's circlet is far beyond that of any _edhellen_ he's ever heard of. Perhaps once, his people were capable... but not anymore. Now, every High Elf meets with the dwarf named Tol (before Tol it was Dwan, before him it was Rov) half a decade before their hundredth Name Day. Tol arrives with seven others, and they stay for three nights. In days of Old, the dwarves would feast and celebrate, sleeping in _Imladris_ a fortnight, but tensions run high between their species now, and whatever camaraderie once existed between them has turned to hatred and distrust. The tradition remains, however; it is valuable trade for both parties: in exchange for herbs and medicines and mithril, Tol meets with the elfling in need of a circlet. This interview, of sorts, takes place over the course of a meal, and during that time, he somehow manages to glean exactly what piece of jewellery would be befitting for that particular individual. Five years later, an elvish envoy is sent to collect it. The dwarf and his family are invited to the coming of age festivities once the package has been delivered, but they always decline.

Castiel's circlet is beautiful. It's more delicate than Michael's, but clearly very strong; stronger than Anna's, that bends under too much pressure, and even Gabriel's, that, while flimsy looking, is deceptive in its stubbornness not to warp. Their patterns are interesting to compare as well: Anael's is thin, tempered like one thousand little flower petals woven together with swirls of metal flowing above, below and through the entire piece, where Michael's resembles thick silver twigs that have been woven together and are sprouting gold leaves. Gabriel's is the the most intricate of all three of them: a plain, thin band of metal woven into their house symbol all down the sides, with a quaternary knot in the middle. It dips in a shallow vee on his forehead, with a freshwater pearl dangling from the tip and a rose gold daisy on the back.

And then there's Castiel. Castiel's circlet has a base of two rows of thin, winding vines that flow haphazardly into one another with purpose—no swirls to speak of. Growing on these vines, however, are the tri-pointed leaves of _Naneth_ 's pin, curling this way and that. Small thorns dot the vines as well, and the entire thing meets in a complex Triquetra that dips just like Gabriel's.

"It's perfect."

Anna is biting back her smile. "It is."

Castiel watches, awed, as his sister nestles the circlet into his hair, gently pressing at the piece until it rests comfortably against his forehead. The braids she's tied—three pairs all done differently and with different meanings, meet up with a complicated, four-stranded thing in the middle, in which threads of paper-thin silver and have been woven as well. With the circlet, it looks perfect... even if the hairstyle is a little much for Castiel's tastes. If the elf had his way, his Name Day would consist of casualwear and loose hair, with his immediate family as well as Hannah, Joshua, his friend from the garrison Balthazar, and Tol at a small table sharing a meal.

The finery is too much.

Anna is fussing with his robes and ensuring his hair falls _just so_ when there's a knock on the door. Grinning, she goes to unlock it, the expression dropping as Gabriel waltzes into the room.

He whistles lowly, very clearly over-the-top for Anna's benefit. "Well well well, aren't _you_ a sight for sore eyes?"

Cas blushes, but doesn't have time to respond.

" _Michael_ was supposed to fetch us," Anael growls.

"Michael's schmoozing with the Council downstairs. Besides," he smirks, turning from Castiel to look at her. "I'm more fun anyway."

While Anna glares—once again things are not as according to tradition—Cas mouths his thanks. Going down with his eldest brother would have been tense and awful.

Gabriel winks.

He's dressed in olive green robes with crème accents, circlet decorating his hair and forehead. With a softer smile, he offers an arm. "Shall we?"

Anna purses her lips. "I still have to get ready. You two go, I'll be down shortly."

Cas suddenly feels his heart constrict in his chest. He doesn't want to go down at all, but he certainly doesn't want to brave his _Peth_ without his sister. "We can delay," Castiel says quickly. "We'll delay. You've done all this work—"

" _Aew_ ," Anna murmurs, stepping towards him to cup his face. "You would make Dean wait?" Cas blushes profusely, but his sister only smiles. "No," she says. "You will go downstairs with Gabriel and I will join you as soon as I can." Anael pulls away with an affectionate pat of his cheek. "I love you."

Castiel surges forward to embrace her fiercely.

From over his shoulder, Anna and Gabriel make eye contact, nodding to each other with hard, determined eyes. No doubt now that Castiel is grown, Michael will make things more difficult for him, especially with regards to his feelings for Dean.

They will not let him come to harm.

 

~ * ~

 

"Cas, wait."

Castiel pauses in front of the door, turning to his brother. With a huge grin, Gabriel gathers him in his arms and squeezes tightly. "I'm proud of you."

Cas buries his face in his neck. "Thank you."

Pushing him back by his shoulders, Gabriel nods once and spins Castiel back towards the door. He gives his backside a playful smack. "Knock 'em dead, little bro."

Cas nods, too nervous to protest the term of endearment. He takes a deep breath, gives another slight tilt of his head to the guard at the door, and waits to be announced. 

There are so many people.

The whole of _Imladris_ must be in the Hall, their eyes turned to where he enters with slow, careful steps. Swallowing thickly, Cas walks up to the dais constructed specifically for events like these and begins to speak.

“ _Mae govannen_ …”

As he talks, Castiel is only half concentrating on the words, looking out into the audience for his Winchesters. He catches them in the very back, almost forced behind a pillar, and falters. " _G-goheno nin_ ," he stutters, smiling in embarrassment. Meanwhile, anger sparks inside his belly and roars fire to his heart; all immediate family is to be as near to the Presenter as possible—at the _front_.

“ _Thiapân Imladris tulier nin tírad. Guren glassui anlein nave ni._ ”

People smile. Sam lifts up an arm to wave at him excitedly and Dean makes an obvious gesture for his brother to settle down in response. When he sees Castiel is looking, however, he gives a small wave of his own.

Cas doesn't care about the rest of his speech: he regurgitates the memorized Words in monotone until he reaches the end. As is customary, his audience claps politely, and Michael moves to step onto the dais as well.

This is where Castiel deviates.

"Thank you," he says graciously, smiling at his people. "I would ask only a moment more of your time."

Anna slips into the room, just as confused as the rest of his audience by the change of language. From where he is mid-step, Michael's grin of unbridled joy turns to self-righteous anger.

"I know it's unorthodox," Cas continues. "But, if you all would permit me, I should like to speak Westron—in English."

Of course, they have no choice in the matter, and Castiel ignores the low whispers that ripple through the crowd at his words. "Mostly because I enjoy it," he says, looking to his Winchesters. "But also because I have been speaking it now for some time, and consider it to be just as much a part of me as my mother tongue."

And so, in English, Castiel welcomes everyone again. He tells them who he is and of which family, and that he Presents as a warrior. When Cas has finished his speech for the second time, the whisper has turned to a murmur and Gabriel, Anna, Sam and Dean are the only ones clapping.

Michael is livid. 

He steps up onto the dais with a forced smile. It’s a warning, but Castiel’s genuine grin remains in place; Michael has to play along, or be viewed as rude. “Brother,” Cas greets, tilting his head in a sign of respect. Michael makes a show of pressing his palm to his own heart and extending it forth in a hug.

“Castiel,” he mutters. “Very… unorthodox.”

“I was being genuine.”

“Weren’t you just.”

Cas’s grin turns into a smirk and he bows ever so slightly, walking down the steps to be with his family. Because of his ‘unorthodoxy’, Michael is forced to give his own toast in both Sindarin and Westron. His brother speaks through the English with a barely concealed grimace, pointedly looking at his youngest sibling as he does. Castiel stands his ground: if Michael is going to use Westron as a way to belittle and talk down to people, let him speak it himself.

Cas stays perfectly still while his brother wishes him wisdom and happiness and fulfillment, itching to go back and stand with his Winchesters. He can’t, not now, but the moment Michael finishes his toast and people sip the sweetwine in their glasses, Castiel is turning back towards the back of the room, eyes on Sam’s floppy head of hair as he slips around people and smiles in thanks at their congratulations.

“Castiel?” Michael calls from the dais. “Where are you going?”

He speaks Westron pointedly now, and Cas’s smile curdles at its edges. There is something in his brother’s tone that does not bode well for him. He turns regardless, though, eyes catching a table laden with food to his right. Perfect.

He points to the spread, stomach truly growling. “I haven’t eaten in—”

“Of course,” Michael interrupts kindly. As he walks forward, the crowd seems to part for him. “I’ll fetch something for you. In the mean time, I’d like to introduce you to Eremiel…”

Michael sweeps a hand towards a handsome, rugged-looking elf—a warrior no doubt, and Eremiel bows lowly. "Castiel," he says reverently.

Cas's heart sinks in realization:

A suitor.

It’s customary for an elf to dance with every available bachelor and bachelorette during the festivities of their one hundredth Name Day, as it's supposed to facilitate the finding of a Lifepartner: this way, one can know for certain their Bondmate is not among those of his or her own clan. This tradition is especially important for High Elves, who are pressured to find their Lifepartners sooner rather than later; though it is in Castiel's right to take as much time as he needs finding his One, he has responsibilities as part of the ruling family. And, as Cas is the youngest of that nuclear unit (barring its human members), every eligible elf has come to see if they are his One.

Of course, elves that have already found their Lifepartners are excused from this tradition, but Cas can't very well confess to everyone that he harbours an ever-reaching _Gwedh_ for Dean Winchester.

So, he shoots a longing look in the direction of his boys, and lets himself be led away, knowing that by now, his heart is not his own to give. 

It belongs to a human with green eyes and a kind heart.

 

~ * ~

 

" _Ci bain_ , Castiel."

Eremiel has turned to Hahasiah has turned to Daniel has turned to Jehoel and Marut and Haniel and Azrael and Dumah and Hael, and Cas is not interested. He doesn't care what they have to say regarding his beauty and grace and skill with the bow; he dances with them because he is required to do so, and between songs, eats and drinks to his heart's content—emphasis on the latter.

Michael is making him spend his Name Day with strangers.

Dumah bows as the song ends and Castiel smiles politely. He then makes a beeline for his glass of wine and drains it.

"You keep going like that, there won't be anything left for the rest of us."

Cas whirls around, smile lighting up his face. " _Dean_." The name on his tongue is sweet relief.

Though he's imbibed quite a bit, Castiel is not so far gone as to lose his inhibitions completely. He stops himself before he can throw his arms around Dean and bury his face in his neck. "You look lovely," Cas says instead.

Because it's true: his friend is dressed in light brown robes with off-white accents and embroidery, his hair braided as neatly as ever with leather ties to hold it in place, while the same leather cinches his robes around his hips. He's smiling, too, which makes him even more radiant, and Castiel can't help the next words that tumble from his lips: "I've missed you."

It's a ridiculous sentiment; they saw each other yesterday—but Cas can't help it. He didn't break his fast with either Winchester this morning because he'd been whisked away by Anna to get ready. He only saw Dean once today, and the seconds of eye contact between them was not enough.

A blush rises high on freckled cheeks and Dean's grin turns softer. "Yeah," he agrees. "Um—and you look..."

Though not completely drunk, Castiel is, unfortunately, in such a state of intoxication that he has trouble filtering his words. "Ah yes," he nods sagely, sweeping his hands down to gesture at himself. "To beautiful for words. _'You are perfection made flesh, Castiel!' 'Your eyes shine like sapphires, Castiel!' 'Castiel, there are no words in all the languages of this Earth that would permit me communicate your beauty! I am made speechless!_ '" Cas finishes the last with a roll of his eyes. "I am so very _sick of it_."

"Uh..."

"But not from you!" the elf rushes to say. He reaches out and grips Dean's forearms. "I know you mean it. I'm sorry, I—" he chews his lip, blushing. "Thank you." A pause. "I believe I may have imbibed more than I previously thought. Let me make it up to you?" Slipping his hands down Dean's arms, Cas slides their palms together. "Come dance."

Though he asks the question, Castiel does not leave Dean time to answer. 

He begins to tug his friend in the direction of the dance floor, only barely registering the fact that they're touching intimately by standards of the _edhellen_. It's exciting, the idea of dancing with Dean, though whether that's because he thinks it will placate the ache in his heart or for some other reason remains to be seen. Either way, Cas wants nothing more than to dance with his true _melethron_ —who isn't exactly his _meleth_ in so many words, but it can’t be so terrible to pretend for one night. Besides, Dean is smiling as well, and at Cas's enthusiasm, follows willingly.

The sober corners of the elf’s mind maintain that this is a terrible idea.

"Castiel!"

It's Michael. Of course it's Michael. When is it ever _not_ Michael?

"I'm going to dance with Dean."

Michael raises a brow, unimpressed. "Dean is not of age."

"He will be grown in eight months—" Rachel will be grown in eleven and he was still forced to dance with _her_.

"He is not of age," Michael says sternly.

"Then—"

" _And_ ," the elder continues. "He is not your family. You know our customs, brother: suitors or family, anything else is inappropriate." With a casual gesture, Michael beckons someone closer. "Hester," he says. "I would like to introduce you to my youngest sibling: Castiel."

Cas stares, dumbstruck. It's not that his brother is forcing him to complete his duties first, it's that he is preventing him from seeing Dean and Sam at all... because they're _human_. Dean is not of age and so is not allowed to dance with him, and according to Michael he is not part of their nuclear family—a sentiment that Castiel does not share at all. To make matters even _worse,_ the other elf insists on speaking to him in Westron like he’s proving some sort of twisted point regarding social hierarchy. Cas grits his teeth; there has to be some way, some loophole that will not cause a scene...

"Castiel?" Michael asks sternly. "Do you not have a question for Hester?"

Dean squeezes his hands before letting go, and Cas feels like he's drowning. Stepping back, his human gives an encouraging smile. Castiel doesn't want to look away from him. "Y-Yes," he murmurs, blue locked with green. "Would you care to dance?" Only then does he turn back to his intended partner, unsurprised to find Michael livid.

"I apologize, Hester," Michael says. "My brother is not normally so rude."

"Oh, that's alright," she smiles kindly. "I know humans can be very needy; it’s good of him to take care of his friend."

It's not meant as an insult, but Cas takes it as one and storms out into the dance floor, uncaring if Hester follows him. She's shocked by his behaviour and the careless way he moves, and they dance for less than one song before Castiel is bowing and thanking her, walking purposefully towards the wine table.

He drinks until he's whisked away again.

Cas loses track of how many people he dances with, but it feels like being handed from one person to the next endlessly and with small breaks for refreshment—namely: alcohol.

Needless to say, by the time Anna finally gets her hands on him, he's tired, grumpy, and is having trouble controlling his own limbs.

"Thank _Eru_ it's you," he breathes, clutching at her shoulders as they begin to dance. "Get me out of here."

Anna wrinkles her nose. "You smell like the bottom of a barrel."

"Is this not what these celebrations are for?" he asks obnoxiously. "I'm finding ways to _enjoy_ myself, Anael."

She pities him, he can see it in her eyes, but for the first time in his life Castiel welcomes it. Let her. Let her see how miserable their brother has made him. Let everyone see.

Abruptly, the music changes.

Cas cranes his head to see why, only barely getting a glimpse of Gabriel's hair before his sister holds his chin firmly in place. "Eyes front, Cas," she says sternly. Castiel frowns.

"I don't—"

In a matter of seconds, the elf somehow finds himself spun out onto the large balcony attached to the hall, its white curtains shut behind him as he stumbles and attempts to steady himself, reaching for the balustrade.

Instead, Cas finds himself pressed up against a body that smells of lavender.

"Dean," he breathes, curling his fingers around the other's biceps. "What are you...?" Frowning, Cas looks to the curtains again. The contrast between the light of inside and the dark of out ensures they see whoever is coming towards them, but that nobody can see them. It's brilliant. "Wha-What are you doing out here?"

Dean's ears turn pink and his teeth close around his bottom lip. He shrugs. "I just thought..." A hand moves to rub the back of his neck. "I mean, you wanted to dance before, so, um... but you prolly changed your mind. Prolly sick of dancing by now, huh? S'okay. 'S dumb anyway."

The fact that Dean's words are running into each other either mean he's had to drink or is incredibly nervous. Looking at his pink cheeks, Cas thinks it might be a bit of both. Wine makes you blush, yes? Yes.

"Yes!" The elf blurts out in response to his thoughts. Dean's face falls. "I mean, no!" Cas is certain his cheeks are aflame. "Yes, we should do the... and no, um..." Frowning, the elf begins again. What is wrong with his tongue? "That's a wonderful idea, Dean. Very thoughtful. I just..." Cas frowns, trying to get his limbs to cooperate, but they never seem to go where he wants. Very confused, the elf looks down at his feet as if they've betrayed him. "I think I may be inebriated."

Dean grins a tad too widely to be completely sober, and brings his shoulders up and down in an exaggerated shrug. Cas is jostled with the movement. "Maybe." He loops his arms around Castiel's waist, pulling them flush. As he rests their foreheads together, he begins to sway. "S'okay, though," he teases. "I promise, your honour is safe with me."

Five million thoughts whir around Castiel's head, the foremost of which is: _it doesn't have to be_. He's not drunk enough to let _that_ slip, however, and so swallows it down with a lump in his throat. Instead, Cas goes for the second best, which is no less heartfelt but certainly more appropriate: "I trust you." Perhaps made _inappropriate_ by the way he cuddles into Dean as he moves, the elfling finds he doesn't really care about the touching. It doesn't mean his friend will know his secret. Besides, Dean is safe. Being close to Dean makes him feel safe. And good. Very, _very_ good.

Luckily, Dean doesn't seem to mind the contact. In fact, he leans into it, draping his arms over Castiel's shoulders and tangling fingers in his hair.

Cas almost falls asleep on his feet. "I didn't want this, y'know?" he says eventually, pulling back in an attempt to stay awake. "The party and the clothes and…" A sigh. "I just wanted Anna and Gabriel and Tol and Sam and you. Especially you. And Joshua and Balthazar. We could've just eaten a... a meal, or something. I don't care." More relaxed than he's felt all day, Cas inhales deeply. He turns away. When he speaks, his voice is small and ashamed: "I don't like dancing with all those strangers."

"Hey, c'mon, they're not really _strangers_ ," Dean soothes, absently twirling a lock of hair around his fingers. With one hand, he gently guides Castiel’s face front.

Blue eyes venture up to meet green. "Everyone's a stranger compared to you." Pausing, Cas makes a face. "I don't think that made sense. I just—I..."

"No, I get it."

Castiel smiles, the thing curdling the moment he's reminded that no, Dean _doesn't_ get it. Not for any fault of his own, but there is no possible way for him to understand. "You don't," the elf says softly, sweetly. "But it's okay." Lifting a hand, he clumsily traces Dean's bottom lip. "There's a thing... I'm not supposed to tell you, but I want to."

The freckled bridge of a nose bumps gently against his own, and Cas briefly wonders when they got so close. That seems to be a theme where Dean is concerned: magnetism.

"Who says you can't tell me?" The question is soft, and his eyes appear to be pleading. He's worried.

Castiel bites his lip, gaze falling down to Dean's mouth before dragging back up. "Me."

"You... You're too drunk enough for this," Dean replies. His cheeks are pink.  "O-Or I'm not drunk enough, or..."

"No, I think you're perfect."

"Oh," he breathes.

“ _Oh,_ ” Cas grins. "I think you're brave, and lovely and kind and I... Dean, I..."

They're too close. They're too close and everything is fuzzy and he can't do this now. Why is his mouth still moving when he knows he _cannot do this now_?

Dean's hands smooth down his body until they rest at his hips, holding tightly. "Yeah?"

" _Dean_."

Dean is blushing furiously, and Cas isn't sure if it’s his heart pounding against his chest or his own. He notes with a sort of detached amazement that Dean is leaning in as if to kiss him.

"Dean."

Joshua.

The human in question groans at the interruption, both in dismay and embarrassment, and buries his face in Castiel’s neck. Cas, meanwhile, is frozen in shock.

Why does this _always_ happen?

"Yeah, we're coming," Dean sighs. He presses his mouth to the sensitive skin of Cas's neck in a sweet, somehow meaningful gesture that colours both their cheeks. "Come on, before Michael kills me for stealing you away."

"I wouldn't let him," Cas says matter of factly despite the tremble of his body. So close. They had been so _close_. And his neck… Castiel’s hand moves of its own accord to brush against the skin Dean kissed. What does this even mean? How much alcohol has Dean consumed? Is this something he would have done while sober? Does this mean he is open to a romantic relationship? If not, then at the very least, does this mean he would consider it?

Dean has never kissed him there before, like that. Not—never tender, like that.

But is Castiel himself reading into everything because he is inebriated himself? He doesn’t _feel_ drunk anymore, but he’s not sure if that means his judgement is not still impaired. Was it even impaired before? Those things he’d said—he’d _wanted_ to say them. He’d—

Dean puts lips to his hair. "I don't really think you're in any position to be protecting me right now."

That’s more along the lines of the contact they normally share, and Cas quells his panic and anxiety. Whatever just happened has clearly passed, and so should the confusion of their behaviour with it. It holds no bearing now; Castiel abandons his feelings to focus on his words: “I will _always_ protect you, Dean.”

The other’s face softens to something he has no control over, and he clearly forces himself to look away. Castiel frowns, but says nothing.

"Yeah, I need alcohol."

Cas tracks the bob of Dean’s throat as he swallows thickly and feels warmth blaze in his gut. This is something with which he wholeheartedly agrees.

 

~ * ~

 

They get, for all intents and purposes, pissed.

It’s fun: sneaking into the kitchen and lighting only one or two of the lamps, crawling into a corner with a bottle of sweetwine… The more they drink, the less inhibited they are, and it isn't long before both robes have been undone and pushed towards their waists—something having to do with skin and freckles, Cas doesn't remember—and Dean is clumsily touching the birthmark right beside his friend’s right nipple. Every intelligent thought Castiel has ever had has been forgotten in favour of observing how the small blemish has Dean wholly mesmerized; the other touches and looks, and drink makes his clumsy fingers brush across the dusky, sensitive bud of flesh beside the tiny flaw. Cas’s teeth abuse his bottom lip as he swallows a gasp.

“Y’r so _great_ ,” Dean says happily. His softwet _warm_ mouth closes over both beauty mark and sensitive flesh alike, sending Castiel’s thoughts to a screeching halt. The elf’s breath sticks in his throat, though not before a startled squeak pushes past his lips, blue eyes opening wide.

"That's my fave'rit," Dean declares with a grin. He cuddles into Castiel’s chest and sighs. “Y’r my fave’rit.”

Cas feels warmth light up his body and nods exaggeratedly, making the movement as big as he possibly can so Dean can _understand._ “Y’re my _-my_ fave’rit _also_ , Dean Wimblester,” he confesses.

Dean cranes his neck and wrinkles his nose. “Whassa Wi-Wimble-Wimblechter?”

Castiel rolls his eyes, the moment from before completely forgotten in light of the inane question at hand. Dean is smarter than this; obviously the alcohol has made him stupid. Thank God elves have a greater tolerance. “Your _name_ ,” Cas replies.

“Huh.”

“You’re drunk.”

“So’re you.”

“Nope,” the elf retort, popping the ‘p’. “Not like you.” He flicks Dean’s nose.

From the way light brows meet in a frown, Dean obviously thinks this a travesty. Unfortunately, neither he nor Castiel are aware that Cas is in fact as far gone as he is. He holds out a half-empty bottle. “S’only fair.”

He makes a good point.

Cas drinks.

 

~ * ~

 

“Can I have some?”

From where he’s entangled with Dean on the floor, Castiel squints up at Sam Winchester. "Sa- _Samuel Windinblester_ , how old're you?"

"Sixteen," Sam says. He speaks slowly, as if talking to a child or a small animal. Castiel finds it offensive but can’t seem to get his mouth to work a retort. No matter, there are more important things to devote his attention to; the elf and begins to do the conversion on his fingers with a frown, muttering to himself. There is no drinking age in _Imladris_ , but for some reason, thinking of Sam getting this inebriated sounds like a bad idea.

Dean, meanwhile, considers his brother carefully. “Kay,” he finally says. “But like... only one. Or two. Five is the most.”

He looks at Cas for affirmation and the elf frowns: "What?"

"Five."

" _Oh_. Okay."

Thirty minutes later, Sam Winchester cannot walk in a straight line.

 

~ * ~

 

“But _Cas_ ,” Sam says, arm flailing and eyes wide. “S’gotta be some kinda… how do they _fit it all_ in f’there so tiny? Huh? An-anssswer me that.”

Samuel Winchester nods his head like he’s won the argument, taking another swig as Castiel honestly considers his question. He supposes it’s a very logical question: hobbits aren’t _that_ big… where does all the food go?

“S’in their big feet,” Dean interjects. “Don’ they got big feet?”

Sam turns his head towards his brother like he possess all the answers of the Universe. Cas chews his lip. He can’t find anything logically wrong with the question, but it feels like that answer isn’t correct. “I dunno.”

Dean shrugs. “I don’t think it matters. I’mean, they got big feet an’ they eat a lot and I think s’ _great_. Really. Y’know what _I_ gotta question ‘bout?”

“What?” Sam asks.

“Orcs.”

Castiel frowns. “What about them?”

“Like…” Dean sighs. “Kay, they don’t have sex right? They jus’—jus’ do their own thing and the big bad master guy person makes ‘em all, right?”

Taking a swig, Castiel purses his lips and gives an affirmative shrug; it sounds accurate.

“So,” Dean continues. “How d’they fall’n love, even?” He sounds terribly concerned. “If I was’n orc, would I even love someone? Or, like, they just don’t??? Do they have _sex_?” Dean squeezes his eyes shut. “Ugh, orc sex.”

“What’d that even _look_ like?” Castiel wonders aloud. Clearly, every mental and verbal filter he possesses has been obliterated. “Orcs fucking. Fucking orcs.” With a snort, the elf bursts out into peels of drunken laughter. Ha! _Fucking orcs_ … like orcs having sex but also an expletive. Ha!

Sam makes a face. “Gross. Cas, you're drunker than a thing tha-tha’s drunk.” Bringing, a bottle to his lips, Dean immediately snatches it away.

“ _Hey_ ,” he barks. “Don’ _ever_ talk ‘bout Cas that way, Sammy. He—He’s a hero. And he’s funny. And he’s _awesome_.”

Castiel cheeks turn pink. “Really?”

“ _Fuck yeah_.”

Cas is so overwhelmed with emotion he cups Dean’s face, his intoxicated states squishing Dean’s cheeks without his notice. “You’re awesomer, Dean.”

“S’not a word, Cas,” Sam grumps.

Dean swats his little brother upside the head. “ _You’re_ not a word.”

“Get a room, jerk.”

“Bitch.” 

Blowing a raspberry, Castiel abandons Dean’s face in favour of taking another swig.

 

~ * ~

 

Somehow, they make it back to Cas’s room.

It takes a lot of stumbling and cursing, and at one point they throw themselves into a spare room to hide from Uriel—who rolls his eyes because their drunken antics are loud and clumsy—but eventually they make it.

“Home swee’ home,” Castiel slurs, tumbling onto his bed. As soon as he’s prone, the world begins to spin. “Blugh.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Cas digs the heels of his palms into his eyes in the hopes of righting the room, and opens one to see if it’s worked. Sam drops onto the floor to remove his boots and staggers towards the bathroom with purpose. Cas isn’t sure if he’s staggering because he’s incredibly intoxicated, or because the floor seems to be moving under him.

Did he really consume that much alcohol?

“Woah.” Dean throws himself on the mattress and the bed bounces slightly, causing Castiel to groan.

“Nonono don’t do that.”

A smirk. “Gonna throw up, Cas?”

The elf groans again. “All over you,” he confirms.

“Ugh.” Dean makes a face, tongue lolling out before the expression changes: green eyes widen to saucers and cheeks flush so pink the colour drowns out his freckles. “Oh!” he exclaims, sitting up quickly. He turns an interesting shade of green with the movement and swallows, pressing a palm to his forehead and pulling at his friend to join him in a seated position. “Waitwait I got a thing f’r you.”

He slides off the bed and onto his shaky feet, extending his arms to steady himself. Cas watches curiously as he takes a step only to become unbalanced and collapse onto the floor.

“Dean!”

But when the elf pulls himself towards the edge of the mattress to peek beyond it, Dean is giggling. “’M good,” he waves off. “’M good.”

Castiel heaves a sigh of relief. He then goes cross-eyed when his friend crawls towards him and nuzzles their noses together. He then leans in to press a quick, chaste kiss to the corner of Cas’s mouth before stumbling away, goofy grin adorning his face. “Be right back.”

Cas forcibly reminds himself he needs to breathe. “O-Okay,” he calls before burying his face into his covers. His smile is so wide he worries it will break his face.

When Dean returns, he’s hiding something behind his back.

Castiel immediately sits upright as his friend stumbles forward, revealing the object with a drunken flourish and offering it as a gift.

A quiver.

It’s gorgeous; hand-sewn with curling and swirling designs tooled in the leather. His house symbol rests on the front in silver made to look like stamped wax seal, the piece flanked by two gorgeously and delicately carved Triquetras. The strap is just as well-worked, its clasp just as stylized. Cas’s hands tremble as he reaches out to touch.

Dean grin is cheesy and radiant. “To Castiel,” he says with a flourish (though his speech is still somewhat slurred). “Smartest, fiercest, bravest, most fantastic elf in—’n _allll_ of Middle Earth. I bow ’fore his awesomeness, and give you this as a… as a token of my love an’ ’ppreciation.”

_You say; ‘I, Dean Winchester, accept this gift, knowing that its giver, Castiel, is the smartest, fiercest, bravest, most fantastic elf in all Middle Earth. I bow before his awesomeness—’_

Suddenly, Castiel is ninety-five again.

_I would give you this as a token of my love._

Dean carefully leaves the gift in Cas’s lap, grin unfaltering. “Happy Name Day, Cas.”

Castiel feels emotion swirl around inside him like a typhoon. Elves don’t do gifts, not typically. This is… He looks down at the quiver before looking up again, unable to come to grips with the generosity and thoughtfulness of Dean’s token. Coupled with the warmth of his words and the kindness in his smile, Cas feels as if he’ll drown in the love running through it all. He throws his arms around his friend to keep afloat.

Dean immediately holds him close and Castiel tangles his fingers into the other’s robes. He feels too much. The sheer amount of emotion he has for this freckle-faced, green-eyed, gentle human will destroy him. What’s more, it grows every day… how long before he isn’t big enough to hold it all? Now, it leaks from every pore in a pink flush and collects in his eyes as moisture—though, admittedly, he normally has better control of himself. Does alcohol do this, too? He can’t remember from previous experience. Then again, he doesn’t think he’s ever been this drunk.

_What happens when there is too much love for the finite space of his chest?_

Tears drop down onto Castiel’s cheeks and the elf buries his face in Dean’s neck to hide himself, one hand still gripping tight to his quiver. “I vow to protect it with my whole heart,” he murmurs, biting his lip when Dean’s breath hitches at the words.

He wants this. He knows he wants this. Cas never let himself dare hope he’d ever have it, but this proves that he was wrong. Doesn’t it? Doesn’t this prove that Dean wants him, too? That Dean loves him? He basically said the words of _Mîlant_ and that means—it means he looked up interspecies bonding for a reason. It means that they…

Castiel feels himself begin to move before he can fully understand what he’s doing, lips parting of their own accord to press love to the skin available to him. The elf kisses Dean’s neck as if he was born to do so, his movements sloppy under the influence of drink but no less certain. Cas works his way up towards the other’s jaw, tongue poking out to lick at the skin whenever he feels so inclined. Dean tastes of sweat and goodness and smells of sweetwine and lavender, and Castiel is convinced that if he hadn’t been drunk before, he would be now, and what does that matter anyway? This is perfect. Dean is perfect.

The human tilts his head to give his friend better access, hand moving to tangle in dark hair as Dean’s breath becomes laboured. “ _Cas_ ,” he sighs. “Cas, I—”

“Yes.”

Castiel nips at the bolt of Dean’s jaw and makes his way towards his mouth.

“ ** _AGH!_** ”

Something crashes in the bathroom.

The pair immediately part.

“Sammy?!?” Dean calls, concerned.

A snort. “’M all—all good!” Sam giggles.

With twin sighs of relief, Dean and Cas turn back to each other. An odd sort of tension springs up in the meager space separating them, breaking the moment Sam shoots out of the bathroom like a bent arrow. The youngest Winchester, oblivious to what had just transpired on Castiel’s bed, launches himself at his family wriggles between them, sighing and nuzzling into one of Cas’s pillows. He seems to fall asleep almost instantly.

Looking at his friend, Castiel has enough sense left to realize the moment has passed. He gives a smile before hunkering down himself, not even bothering with his teeth as he cuddles into Sam. Dean does the same a moment later.

_Every damn time._

On the cusp of sleep, a dark thought snakes into Castiel’s consciousness, unbidden. It curls around his heart just as he’s drifting off before squeezing the organ in a vice. _Do you truly believe he loves you?_ it asks, voice slick as oil. _Dean isn’t in his right mind. He’s drunk, Castiel. He didn’t mean it. How could he, when you’re so different? How could he after what happened between you tonight? You took advantage, Cas._

_He was vulnerable and **you took advantage**._

Castiel’s dreams are dragonfire.

 

~ * ~

 

“Shh, I got you. You’re okay, Cas.”

When Michael decides to replace the regular guard for the patrol of the Winchesters' wing, nobody questions him. When he arrives at his destination, however, the High Elf wonders if the revolting sight on his brother’s bed would not have been better witnessed by someone else.

Michael will kill Dean Winchester.

The human—practically grown, now—is clumsily and sleepily climbing into bed behind Castiel, uncaring that the other’s position places him on the very edge of the mattress. He buries his face in the Castiel’s neck, a hand snaking up his hip to wrap around and rest at his chest. There’s a soft smacking sound and the High Elf is made aware that Dean has just kissed Castiel’s cheek.

Michael’s blood boils.

How _dare_ he? How dare he touch and kiss as if it is his right to do so? How dare he—

Castiel, who had been frowning up until this point, relaxes in his companion’s arms. Tension bleeds form Dean’s shoulders as well and Michael clenches his jaw. He’s about to storm into the room and rip the human filth from his kin when Dean begins to speak: “…Love you, Cas,” he slurs quietly, pushing back dark hair. “Always love you. You an’ Sammy: _nîn noss_. ” A sigh. “Jus’ want you happy.”

He drops off moments later, burying his face in Castiel’s shoulder.

Michael is beyond furious.

He will tear Dean Winchester into strips and sew him back together only to destroy him again. The boy is vile. He’s a disease. He has _ruined_ his youngest brother and for what? A love humans are too naïve to grasp and too selfish to return. Castiel loves with all of himself and _Dean_ —

Michael sneers to himself, shaking his head. This will not do. He can only barely tolerate the way Castiel is curled around the youngest Winchester protectively… to have the elder slip into bed and declare his undying love? He feels ill.

Stepping forward, Michael has every intention of looking between Dean and Castiel and ripping out whatever filaments have formed between them. He’s about to call on his Second Sight when something stops him in his tracks.

“ _No_.”

It’s practically imperceptible, would be to anyone without his Sight, but with Sam as the control for this little experiment, the results are more obvious.

There is something odd about Castiel’s skin.

Where Sam’s is healthy and tanned, it looks ashen compared to that of his guardian, who, somehow, looks simultaneously softer and stronger in a way he never has before. There is an inner glow that is so faint it becomes impossible to see if he doesn’t concentrate, but it’s there.

It’s there and Dean Winchester has it, too.

Panicking, Michael looks to their souls, uncaring of the breach of privacy as he sifts through the bright stuff with determination.

He doesn’t have to look far.

Unlike the first time, the threads connecting Dean and Castiel glow bright and steady, certain and strong between them. There are four, and they do not shiver or shake. They exist as if they have a place in this world, as if _Gwedh_ linking Dean and Castiel is not the abomination Michael knows it to be.

He needs to destroy them.

Clenching his jaw, Michael enters the room completely, not bothering to shut the door as he walks to stand over the bed. His hands turn to fists and he fantasizes about dragging Dean from the mattress and dropping him over the side of the balcony. That would break their Bond. That would annihilate it, and have the added bonus of permanently removing Dean Winchester from his sight.

Or, he could callously tear each filament open before ripping every broken half from their souls. It would no doubt cause unspeakable pain, but let them learn what it means to love where love should never exist. After treating him with such disrespect, perhaps Castiel deserves it.

Then again, he’s only a boy.

Certainly, today is his one hundredth Name Day, but Castiel still knows nothing of the real world. He knows nothing of human cruelty, and dwarvish greed, and the evil that consumed their brother Lucifer and led to his defeat in the South. Castiel needs to learn, surely, but perhaps throwing him headlong into painful misery is not the way to do that. Michael wants to create a normal life for his youngest brother, and killing _Gwedh_ after three filaments would leave Castiel unable to Bond permanently. It would not succeed in giving him happiness; more likely, the opposite would occur.

No matter.

With Castiel grown and Dean underage, it will be easy to keep them apart. This bond may have blossomed unchecked, but Michael will no longer be so lenient. He will make them sleep in different wings and give them curfews. He will assign them tasks that ensure they never cross paths. Of course, Sam will be collateral damage in this case, but in combat, casualties cannot be helped. He’s human and that makes him dispensable.

 _Gwedh_ ’s partial completion means that they have not confessed their love formally, and that is crucial to stopping the sickness that binds them. They will not be together long enough to to believe their feelings are reciprocated.

“Michael?”

Gabriel, though respectful, colours his question with perfectly muted hostility. Michael turns and smiles genuinely for the first time in what feels like decades.

He can stop this.

“I was just leaving.”

* * *

 

**Gabriel's band is not plain, it's composed of the House Symbol repeated all the way around the circlet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
>  _Imladris _: Rivendell__  
>  _Imlad_ : Dean  
>  _Esseru_ : Sam  
>  _Sovallë_ : Bath/Purify/Cleanse  
>  _Peth_ : Words  
>  _In Annar_ : (to) Present  
>  _Hanar_ : Brother  
>  _Naneth_ : Mother  
>  _Aew_ : Little bird  
>  _Mae govannen_ : Welcome  
>  _Goheeno nin_ : I apologize  
>  _Thiapân Imladris tulier nin tírad, guren glassui anlein nave ni_ : It seems like all of Imladris has come to see me today, I thank you for being here  
>  _Ci bain_ : You are beautiful  
>  _Meleth_ : Lifepartner/Bondmate (gender neutral)  
>  _Melethron_ : Lifepartner/Bondmate (male)  
>  _Gwedh_ : Soulbond  
>  _Mîlant_ : Love-Gift  
>  _Edhellen_ : Elf (Elf-kind)  
>  _Nîn noss_ : My family


	12. Mel hûn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean becomes a man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terribly sorry for the long wait. Seriously I feel so so so bad for making you guys wait so long, and for stringing along everyone who follows me on tumblr. Hopefully, the fact that this update is long makes up for it. 
> 
> As always, hover for immediate translation, and I now have a glossary at the bottom for people reading on mobile!
> 
> **The fanstastic fanart is by[topirornottopie](http://topieornottopie.tumblr.com/post/150318342124/i-was-reading-by-my-life-by-casthewise-chapter). Thank you so so so much!!!**

“I will not allow it.” 

“Michael, he is one of us.”

“No, he is _human_.”

“He grew up _here_ —”

“Yes, as a human. You saw to that.”

“You cannot forbid this.”

The High Elf rises from his seat on the dais, brow raised as he makes his way to a small table at the corner of the room. Casually, Michael pours himself a glass of sweetwine and raises it to his lips. "And why not?" he asks before taking a sip. "I only do it to protect him."

" _Protect him_?" Castiel echoes, incredulous. "Protect him from what?"

Pausing, Michael gives his youngest brother a weighted look before turning his attention back to his glass. A long, graceful index finger traces its lip. "How many do you believe would come?" He appears to be holding back laughter. "How many to court Rivendell's eldest human? A green boy that acts like an elf; laughable: a _freak_."

Cas grits his teeth. " _I_ will be there."

Anger blazes in the depths of Michael's gaze for only a moment, the emotion flickering so quickly Castiel almost misses it. In less than a blink, the elder is smiling pityingly, his expression edged with something sharp and unpleasant. "Yes," he murmurs. "Though... perhaps not. January the 24th? I believe we’ll have a Council meeting. Mandatory."

Castiel steps forward. "What are you so afraid of?" he demands. "That I'll fall in love with him?"

Michael narrows his eyes in warning. "Castiel..."

"Or perhaps," Cas continues. "Perhaps you fear that the deed is already done. That just as I feel for him, he feels for me in return." Reaching forward, Castiel plucks the wine glass from his brother's fingers and takes a sip. His head tilts in question. "Is that it?"

Michael's lips stretch into a thin smile and Cas grins in return. "Yes," the younger says. "You do fear that, brother. And perhaps your fears are not unfounded." Putting the glass on the table, Castiel leans in as if to tell an invaluable secret: "… _I am wholly and completely enamoured of Dean Winchester._ "

In the wake of that confession, his heart feels as if it is about to explode.

"Castiel—"

Cas can hear the bite in Michael's words and has to tamp down his smirk, moving back to give him a firm look. His brother’s face has turned pale and the blood in Cas’s veins races so quickly with adrenaline, he simultaneously feels indestructible and like he’s going to vomit. "You cannot forbid this."

“I can and I will,” Michael growls, fierce. “I do.”

"No." Cas smiles now. They are no longer speaking solely of love. "It is his right as a citizen of _Imladris._ "

"Who will come, other than you?!" Michael demands. "He has no family!"

" _Yes, he does!_ " Chest heaving, Castiel's hands turn to fists. "He has Sam and Anna and Gabriel. He has _me_."

"You are of a different species—"

"Family doesn't end in blood."

Michael laughs humourlessly, his entire body shaking with the action. "Did he tell you that? Oh my poor, sweet, naïve Castiel; kind to a stupid fault. Tell me, what are you without your blood?" He’s walking now, circling Cas slowly. The younger elf stands in place, firm. “Dead, dear brother,” Michael breathes. His voice slithers with something dark; whispered speech hitting Castiel’s ear in puffs that make his hair stand on end. “You are nothing without your blood, _Cas_.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” Michael laughs again. “You know nothing of the world, Castiel. You know nothing of war and violence and greed. Nothing of killing. This boy—because he is a _boy_ —knows even less. You are both as green as the grass on which I tread. Don’t you see?” he demands. “ _I_ know. _I_ lived through Lucifer’s betrayal. _I_ saw how the magic of men twisted his soul and turned him to something foul! _I_ was there when he killed our parents! _I_ was there when _humanity_ drove a blade through his heart! I was left to pick up the pieces, Castiel! I was left to come home and rule and ensure you grew up properly! As _elves_. Do you think man thought to help me? Do you think the dwarves, after all our disagreements, sought to be of service? I was a boy myself! So do not tell me I am wrong, Castiel, because I know more than anyone that you can only count on your blood, and sometimes, it betrays you, too.” Gritting his teeth, Michael looks up to handle the glassiness of his eyes, turning his gaze downward after his shoulders square and his posture stiffens. “Lucifer was the best of us then just as you are now, and I will not lose another brother to humanity. This Earth is built upon blood, and to deny it is utter blindness.”

Castiel swallows thickly, unbalanced. He needs to find perspective. These things were terrible, yes, and it can’t have been easy on his brother, but just because Michael has a reason to hate does not make that hate justified. He has struck him; he _beat Dean_ and dared pass it off as part of his training. Cas has not seen either Winchester for more than five minutes at a time since May because _Michael_ kept Dean in the smithy and Sam in the library. He forced Castiel to run errands, train elflings, and partake in Council meetings when he made the public decision to postpone his search for a _meleth_. Dean and Sam sleep in a room on the other side of the palace, and Michael has never treated either of them with respect. He called Dean a _grunt_.

Suddenly, Cas can’t stand to breathe the same air as him. “Hatred is blindness,” Cas retorts, taking a step back. “And you have enough to plunge the world into eternal darkness.” Turning assuredly, the elf makes his way to the door.

“Don’t you dare leave until I’ve finished speaking! You may be in love with a human but the laws of the _edhellen_ still bind you to propriety!”

But Castiel has no more interest in elvish custom. “I will make the arrangements for Dean’s Coming of Age ceremony,” he says. “According to the rules of our people, he will have one.” 

“He _will not_ —”

“He will,” Cas replies calmly. “He wears our braid; that makes him one of us. I will toast his journey into adulthood in your stead. May I be excused, _hir vuin_?”

Michael sounds desperate now. “No. No, you may not. Castiel, his head of house is long dead, you cannot—I will not allow—”

“Exceptions must be made, _hir vuin_. As you will be busy with a mandatory Council meeting, I will have to make do.” A pause. “I wish to go to his Coming of Age, and as an eligible bachelor, it is wholly within my rights to do so. You know as well as I that, at this stage of my life, finding my One outweighs all other responsibilities.” Raising a brow, Cas juts out his chin in question. “Unless, of course, the meeting is a speciesist front to keep Dean and I from seeing each other yet _again_ , and you wish to attend the event in order to keep an eye on us?”

Though Castiel has not seen his brother blush in years, Michael’s cheeks flush deeply now. “No,” he grits out. “The meeting is important, of course I will…” He swallows the rest of his words, looking pained. “Of course. You have my permission.”

Castiel tilts his head in a small bow, and Michael nods. “You are excused, Castiel.”

It feels like a triumph.

 

~ * ~

 

 

With the celebration only a month away, Cas enlists Anna and Gabriel for help. For once, Michael is not the reason he never sees his boys, and this time, Castiel is not as bothered. 

“Can I see it?"

Despite only just getting permission, he's been planning this for a long time.

"No."

" _Anna_."

"You are well-aware of the rules, Castiel."

_Sir, may I have a word?_

Aware of the rules, yes. Following them... perhaps not as much as his sister would like.

_I know that they are not elvish in the strictest sense of the word, but they are precious to me._

When Tol had come five years previous, Castiel had pulled him aside.

"Precious?" the dwarf had echoed. "Are you blind, lad? They're human!"

"I know. Of course, I am well aware of that. But they—they're my family—"

"Your family?" Tol had scoffed. "Do their ears look pointed to you?"

" _They are my family_ ," Castiel had repeated fiercely. Swallowing his defence, the elf had put on a hopeful smile. "And I would very much appreciate if you'd observe both of them as well as myself during your stay here."

Tol had scoffed. "Why would I do that? Three times the work and for what? A pretty smile? I don't smith for free, Lordling, and certainly not for elves. Besides, the little one is far too young."

" _Please_ ," Cas had begged. "Anything. I'll give you anything you want."

The dwarf had paused. "And why isn't your gem of an elder brother pleading for these humans? He _is_ their guardian, is he not?"

"He does not love them as I do."

"Love," Tol had whistled. "Can't imagine he's thrilled with your use of that word."

Embarrassed to be caught disobeying an elder, Castiel had steered his gaze towards the floor.

"I'll make you a deal, elfling: I will observe both humans, and in exchange I demand an invitation to each of their Ceremonies. You can be sure that I will attend."

Castiel had been gobsmacked. "But... you are invited regardless. Is there not anything more—?"

Tol's eyes had narrowed. "You're not like the others, are you?" he'd asked. "Peculiar; where your loyalties lie. But you've not been rude to me since I arrived and this will certainly anger your pompous brother, so I am satisfied with the terms as they stand. Unless you wish to amend them?"

"N-No," Cas had stuttered. "I'm just—I'm not certain he'll allow a proper ceremony at all. I may have to conduct it in their rooms."

"So it shall be only myself that makes the journey," Tol had shrugged. "You'll have wine for the occasion, surely?"

"Of course."

"Then I believe we have a deal. I will attend for both humans and bring the circlets with me so you do not arouse suspicion by sending and envoy. I will arrive exactly three days before the proceedings and you will receive me with all the finery your House has to offer. In exchange, I will supply the circlets and your brother will stew quietly in his own juices, powerless."

That was half a decade ago.

Now, Tol is sleeping off his journey in one of the lavish spare bedrooms, and Anna has taken the chest containing the dwarf's gifts (because, truly, they can be considered nothing else in light of the meagre sum he has asked for them) and has hidden it away.

"You'll see it tonight."

Castiel is, of course, well aware of that. He is also well aware of the fact that he has practically single-handedly managed to orchestrate this event, and therefore should, at the very least, see the product he has received to ensure it is indeed in the box and that it is satisfactory. "I need to make sure everything is in order."

Anna sighs exasperatedly. "You asked for my help, did you not? You want this to be as traditional as possible?"

Reluctantly, Castiel nods.

“Good. Then stop asking for things you know you cannot have.” Before Cas can open his mouth to protest, Anael cuts him off. “Tol has done fantastic work, and everything is ready. You’ve worked hard on this, Castiel, and it will go off without a hitch. Now, if you have a free minute and are set on making yourself useful, you may go and fetch Dean; I’m ready for him.”

A large, gummy smile blooms across Castiel’s face without his control, breath stuttering in his chest and palms sweating at the mere _mention_ of seeing Dean after so long. He blushes profusely at his body’s ridiculous response and clears his throat, already mentally charting the quickest way to the Winchesters’ room.  He nods, already turning away. “Of course—”

Anna grabs his wrist and tugs her brother back around. She eyes Cas meaningfully. "In a timely fashion, please. No funny business."

Castiel’s blush deepens. “Funny business?” he splutters. “Anna—”

"Whether or not you have already is none of my concern," she says kindly, patting his cheek. "But you'd do well to keep your affections from showing so plainly on your face. Michael is not pleased with today's celebration, and you know he will look for excuses to terminate it."

Despite the warning, Castiel cannot stop the jump of his step as he walks down the hall.

 

 

~ * ~

 

“Cas, hey!” 

The first thing Cas sees when he enters the room, is the tall, lanky form of one Samuel Winchester.

Sam has grown incredibly within these past months. The softness in his cheeks has given way to more prominent cheekbones, the waviness of his hair slowly abating to leave glossy, straight locks perfect for braiding. He's thin, with pointy elbows and knees and a robe that's slightly too short and too wide, and for a moment Castiel has the urge to feed him excessively. He's far too skinny for a growing boy. Uncoordinated, too, for all the extra height he's gained; the young man almost trips over himself as he unfolds himself from the table and chair where he'd been having breakfast while reading a book, stumbling over his own two feet with a wide smile. When he wraps his long arms around Castiel in a hug, his arms fall over the elf's shoulders. Sam squeezes tightly before pulling back. "What're you doing here?"

Incredibly, Castiel finds he has to look up in order to see _Esseru'_ s face.

"I'm here to collect Dean," he says distractedly, looking at his charge, incredulous. Since when is Sam so big? There was a time when the youngest Winchester would fit perfectly in his lap and beg him for a story or a song. "You've grown."

Sam rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah," he murmurs. "Guess it's easy to tell when you haven't seem much of us, huh?"

"Sam, I swear, I never wanted—"

"I know," he smiles. "That wasn't an accusation, just a fact. I didn't mean anything by it."

Castiel feels his heart tie itself into knots. "I'm sorry—"

"Cas, it's okay," Sam grins. "Really. You probably would've noticed anyway; Dean's started calling me an Ent."

Clearly meant to be a dig—and one Sam does not appreciate—Castiel purses his lips. "You know, Ents are the oldest and wisest beings on this Earth," he says. "I would consider it a compliment before an insult."

Grin softening, Sam ducks his head in a bashful nod, "thanks," before turning to their shared bathroom. The door is shut. "Gimme a minute and I'll get Dean for you. He got up at the ass-crack of dawn and's been freaking out ever since."

Cas's brow raises with interest. "What about?"

"He says his Words and the dancing, but honestly?" Sam asks, smirking as he backs away towards the bathroom. "My money's on seeing you."

"Gambling is a terrible pastime," Castiel blurts out in response. It seems that in addition to blushing so deeply he can literally feel his cheeks warming in light of Sam's prediction, the elf has also lost control of his vocal chords. He watches, embarrassed, as _Esseru_ raises an amused brow and goes to knock on the door of the bathroom.

"Dean?" Sam calls. "Cas is here!"

A muffled _"what?"_ filters through the wood and Sam repeats himself more loudly, looking at the space Dean will emerge from almost expectantly. As soon as the elder Winchester hears the message, the bathroom explodes in a cacophony of muted sound, the symphony of dropped wooden cups and started yelps building up to the crescendo that is Dean Winchester's entrance.

He practically shoots into the room, skidding to a stop before Cas and panting as if he'd run the length of _Imladris_ twice. His sleep shift and the robe meant to be covering him are both open, the former only exposing his flesh down to an inch below his navel. Pink lips pull back in a grin that seems to light Dean up from the inside out, showcasing his perfect teeth and causing Cas's heart to flutter wildly in his chest.

With far more faint freckles than when he'd seen him last, damp hair tied into a messy bun, Castiel wonders how the man he's fallen in love with has managed to get even more attractive.

He shouldn't be by any traditional definition of the word; freckles are blemishes after all, and there's a slight softness to his stomach there hadn't been, before—possibly from too many sweets—but, beaming at him, Dean cannot be described as anything other than lovely. If stereotypical beauty does not include bowlegs, Cas wants no part of it.

"Cas!" Dean exclaims. "Hey! Hi." Eyes widening in realization, he draws his robes shut and clears his throat, leaning up against the nearest pillar with exaggerated casualness. "H-hi."

Castiel's smile only grows on his face. "Hello, Dean."

The space between them fills with comfortable silence. Castiel is certain his grin has turned stupid at this point, but can't bring himself to stop. "I, um... I was sent to collect you. By Anna."

"Oh. Okay."

Neither move.

"Uh... guys?" Sam asks from off to the side. "You know you're actually gonna have to stop looking at each other to get there, right?"

While Castiel is shocked into a stupor by _Esseru's_ words, Dean appears to be mortified. "Shut up, Sam," he blushes, reaching forward to grab Cas's sleeve. "C'mon Cas, let's go."

The elf is practically pulled from the room. "Bye, Sam!" he calls over his shoulder.

"Yeah, bye bitch!" Dean says.

Sam grins and salutes them. "Jerks!"

The door shuts behind them.

"What?" Dean asks in response to Castiel's unimpressed look.

"You know I hate when you speak to each other like that."

"Yeah well, you weren't around to police our language, so..."

Cas nods, his throat turning tight and eyes downcast. "I know," he says, ashamed. "And I am deeply sorry for that—"

"No, that's not—" Dean shakes his head. "That's not what I meant." Stepping forward, the young man clasps their hands together. He catches Cas's eye and holds his gaze. "You shouldn't feel guilty because Michael's a dick. That's something you can't change."

Castiel chews his lip. "I should have tried harder to subvert him. I should have—"

"What?" Dean asks, though it's clear he has no interest in the answer. "Gotten yourself shipped off somewhere? Forced to leave and find your Lifepartner? You did good, Cas."

Though Dean has an excellent point, it does little to relieve Castiel's guilt. Their hands slip apart as the elf turns and begins to walk once more. "Are you well?" he asks instead, hoping for a subject change.

Castiel can feel Dean's gaze burning into the side of his head and faces resolutely forward. "...I'm fine," the other says eventually. "How're you?"

"Fine," Cas echoes. "Better than, in truth... It's good to see you."

"Yeah," Dean smiles. "You, too."

Try as he might, Castiel cannot stop a little huff of pleasure from pushing past his lips. Dean's grin widens at the sound and the human shuffles closer as they walk in tandem, positioning himself so their hands brush with every step. "What've you been up to?"

Cas sighs. "Going to Council meetings, training warriors. Michael assigned all manner of task in order to keep me from you. I would say his determination is impressive if I wasn't so utterly miserable carrying out whatever inane orders he assigns me." A shrug. "But what can you do? My brother is an assbutt."

"An _assbutt_?" Dean raises a brow, laughing. "What kind of an insult is that?"

“A regular one,” Castiel frowns. "I don't understand. Assbutt—" Dean howls with laughter, "—is a perfectly acceptable insult."

"Just like calling someone a dragon penis." The other cracks up.

"Dean, stop laughing."

But Dean doesn't stop. Honestly, Cas isn't sure he's capable of doing so with the way his friend is gasping and leaning against him, muttering about 'buttbutts'. He looks crazy. Insane. _One hundred percent gone._

"'M sorry," he hisses between peals of laughter. "It's just— _assbutt_."

Castiel is bordering on being offended. What's wrong with his insult? Michael is a truly abhorrent individual and ‘assbutt’ communicates that perfectly. "Fine," the elf mutters, disgruntled. "You've made your point: I won't use that insult again."

Dean sobers almost immediately. "What?" he cries. "No, c’mon, don't ever change, Cas _._ " Human hands rest heavy on Cas's shoulders and the elf feels his heart begin to pound at their proximity. "It's cute," the other continues, playfully flicking Castiel's nose. "You're cute."

The minute the endearment is out of his mouth Dean looks like he wishes he could swallow it. He appears to be mortified he said anything at all, and Cas, familiar with the feeling, jumps in without thinking: "I am not _cute_."

In addition to being truly indignant at the thought of being referred to as cute, it's the right thing to say; Dean's eyes flick up to meet Cas's and he smirks. "Please," the human drawls. "You're the cutest elf in all of _Imladris_."

Castiel splutters. What kind of slander is that? Elves are fierce and beautiful. Despite being a compliment—Cas’s cheeks pink at the term— _cute_ is reserved for children. "You're cute," he retorts.

But the conversation has gone from serious to teasing, and Dean is in his element. Grinning, he drapes an arm over Castiel’s shoulders and brings him in close, continuing to walk. “Nah,” he says. “The way your hair never cooperates? The way you frown and tilt your head when you don’t understand something? Cute. Even the way you sneeze is cute. Face it, Cas, you’re adorable.” With a playful coo, Dean reaches forward to pinch his cheek. “I got nothin’ on you.”

“Really?” Castiel grouses, twisting out of Dean’s grasp. “Because your freckles are adorable.”

“Freckles are dumb imperfections, they’re not cute.”

“Well, I think they are. Just as I think the way you try and sneak sweets is adorable, and the way you constantly feel the need to reassert your masculinity after you take a scented bath… and the way you used to give me flowers as a child.” Smiling facetiously, Cas pats his friend on his ruddy cheek. “Dean, you’re often so cute I find myself unable to stand it.”

Bright red at this point, Dean Winchester coughs embarrassedly. “Yeah, well, you’re just—” He gestures abstractly. “—With your eyes and everything—”

Cas grins.

“Shut up,” Dean hisses.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You were thinking it!”

“The only thing I was thinking is how lucky I am to have you.”

Dean tenses, and Castiel is aware he’s made a mistake. He forces a casual smile, stopping in front of Anna’s door with a casualness he does not feel. Despite the tension between them, Dean stays close. “So, for this whole Name Day thing…” he starts awkwardly.

Cas is grateful for the topic change. “Right. Of course. Did Anna tell you what is required of you?”

“Her and Gabriel, yeah,” Dean murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, I was at yours so I saw that I have, um, Anna called them _Peth_ —Words?”

Cas nods.

“Yeah,” Dean ducks his head. “I know what happens during the actual celebration. Before is just getting ready, right? Bath, clothes, circlet? I, um, I shaved this morning, too,” he says, embarrassed. “I know you guys don’t really have beards or anything, and I didn’t know if Anna was gonna help with that, so…”

“You did very well,” Cas replies. “I’m not certain she would have been able to help with that. Not that you would have been kept from saying your words if you hadn’t shaved. I’m certain you’re just as handsome with it.” Curiously bringing his hand up to thumb at Dean’s jaw, Castiel smiles at the smoothness of the other’s skin. “You’re very talented.” Cas ignores the replied scoff and trails his fingertips down, ghosting over Dean’s pulse and gently touching the swell of his throat. Looking up, he finds green eyes to be much closer than he originally anticipated. It leaves him breathless. “You’re taller than I remember,” the elf says softly, palm sliding down between them to rest over Dean’s chest. The man in question gives a small smile.

“I don’t think so; you’ve just been too preoccupied by how cute I am to notice.”

Castiel grins in response. “I have, at that.”

Whatever moment had sprung up between them shatters with the sound of boot heels clicking across the floor in a nearby hallway, and the pair look away from each other bashfully. It's Castiel that ultimately forces himself to speak, to anxious with the slowly widening ravine of awkward metaphorical space between them. Coupled with all he still needs to say, and all he _wants_ to say but cannot let himself, the silence is unbearable. "With regards to the bath..." he starts, clearing his throat in the hopes of chasing away the remaining conversational distance between them. "Anna can be pushy." Understatement. "I thought the more traditional the ceremony, the better. I hope I wasn't wrong in thinking that?"

"No," Dean says cautiously.

"Good," Cas says. His breath whooshes out if him in one puff of great relief. "That's good. Um..."

"Cas?"

"It's nothing bad," Castiel assures. "But as I said, I told Anna traditional, and Anna is pushy. In a traditional ceremony, the House's mother would bathe her children for the last time. Completely. As neither you nor I have mothers, my sister--"

Dean chokes on his saliva. " _What_ —"

"You don't have to!" Cas rushes to say. "If you're uncomfortable, tell her. She's under strict instructions only to wash what you ask. I hate the entire idea of it, and so I requested that she only clean my hair on my Name Day. I was tricked into that, but you will not be. If you don't want her to touch you, she won't. I promise."

Dean blushes profusely and he worries his lip, considering. "But aren't we like... never supposed to touch each other?"

"That's what I said!" Placing hands on his shoulders, Castiel gives his friend a small smile. "Nothing you don't want to happen will transpire in that room, I promise you. If Anna gives you trouble--which she won't, but if she does—I encourage you to walk out." For lack of anything better to say, Castiel bids Dean 'good luck' before turning on his heel to knock at the door.

"Hey, wait, Cas—"

But then he's whirled around.

Dean's hands immediately come to rest on his waist, preventing him from moving away. In fact, then moment Dean's palms are anchored he tugs Cas closer. Lightly freckled thumbs sweep over the dips of his hipbones and their foreheads bump together, followed closely by their hips. Castiel holds his breath.

"I just... I missed you, um, since, uh..."

All at once, Cas is aware he has no idea what to do with his hands. This is suddenly of monumental importance. "Yes—so did I." Slightly trembling fingers move to rest on Dean's biceps and he tries not to bury them in the loose fabric covering the other's skin; Dean _missed him_. They missed _each other_. His heart beats so hard he's certain his ribs will bruise.

"Oh," Dean breathes, as if it's some great surprise. Castiel has to fight the urge to tell him exactly how deeply he craved the other’s presence, the words collecting on the tip of his tongue. He swallows them, though he feels as if they’ve taken his voice into his stomach with them. "Great. I mean, not actually great, but y'know—"

There must be something in the stars’ alignment, for surely the boldness that lingers after Castiel’s encounter with Michael is not enough to push him forward. The elf manages, however; leaning in and pressing his mouth to Dean’s cheek in action more deliberate than he ever has before. This contact is not rushed. It is not hesitant.

_Perhaps you fear that the deed is already done. That as I feel for him, he feels for me in return._ _Perhaps your fears are not unfounded._

But perhaps Castiel’s are.

The elf forces himself to pull away slowly, blood rushing in his ears so loudly it all but deafens him. Dean's cheek had been smooth and warm, and Castiel wets his lips. His friend is looking on with wide green eyes, but Dean hasn't yet made any movement that would indicate discomfort. Maybe he enjoyed it? Maybe he wouldn't mind being kissed again? Spurred on by the lack of protest, Cas curls his fingers in Dean's sleeves and leans in again.

Dean turns his head.

Not away, like Castiel had been expecting, but _towards_ him. It catches Cas off-guard and the elf moves back minutely, suspended in their shared space and utterly overwhelmed. Giving ample time for Cas to reroute his own actions, Dean then tilts his chin and closes the remaining distance between them.

Just like that, they're kissing.

It's soft, and there's a sweetness to the action Castiel wants to memorize. In point of fact, he wants to memorize it all: the dry press of their mouths, the way Dean's lips pucker like he's too nervous and shy to so more than give a slow peck... everything.

They drift apart with a tiny 'pop', blue eyes cracking open to green revealing itself in lovely, lazy blinks. Cas's heart is so full it's as if it'll burst. "I think I may be starting to—know, I mean," he murmurs, impressed with his own ability to speak.

Dean's lips quirk up in a lovely smile that Castiel reciprocates. Dean is gorgeous like this: cheeks pink and mouth slightly swollen, eyes bright despite the fact they're hooded. The pair are so close they're practically breathing the same air, and their mouths brush when Dean parts his lips to speak: "S'good," he replies, hands tightening on Cas's hips. Castiel's lips quirk higher in response. The elf hums as he drifts towards his friend, their noses bumping together. Dean's breath hitches seconds before Cas kisses him again.

Warmth blossoms in the elf's chest and races through his veins, long fingers uncurling from Dean's sleeves. His palms slide up to grip the other's shoulders, while Dean's right hand moves to the small of Castiel's back and his left drifts up to the elf's ribs. Cas's hands climb higher in response; thumbs brushing the bolt of Dean's jaw. This kiss is longer than the first, and marginally less stiff. Castiel feels the tension of his body slowly release while Dean sighs.

"Dean? I'm—oh!"

Cas feels as if he's been doused in ice water. His heart jumps unpleasantly in his chest and he and Dean spring apart.

In his panic, one thousand excuses Castiel doesn't mean collect on the tip of his tongue, words drying up the minute Dean's hand brushes his side. His friend's face is as bright red as Anna's, and Cas can feel his own cheeks flame similarly.

"I'm ready for you," Anael says, barely managing to meet their eyes. "—Dean. I'm ready for Dean. His bath." She gives an embarrassed smile before disappearing back into the room.

Castiel is mortified.

He steps back, clearing his throat and clasping his hands behind his back as he ducks his head in a nod. "So, I suppose I'll—"

"See you later?" Dean asks, just as awkward.

"Yes."

Neither move.

Castiel has no idea where to go from here. Do they wave at each other? Shake hands? Humans don't view kissing as the show of commitment the edhellen do. And what was the motivation behind it? Was it a spur of the moment decision, based purely on physical desire? Suddenly, all the confidence Castiel had garnered has vanished, leaving the elf with nothing but insecurity and doubt. What if his worst fears are realized, and Dean only wants something casual? What if he's already regretting his actions and never wants to see him again? He hasn't moved a muscle and Castiel is starting to worry that perhaps the latter has transpired. The elf is working up the courage to speak when Dean steps forward, nervous.

Lips press to Cas’s cheek clumsily, and the action causes his heart to trip up and slam against his stomach in a sensation that feels like falling. He’s frozen as his friend steps away, stuffs his freckled hands into the large pockets of his robe and stares. For all his apparent anxiousness, Dean is literally biting back a grin.

In the face of such joy—no matter how Dean attempts to tame it, Castiel is powerless. He smiles as well, sensation tingling at his fingertips and urging him forward to touch. In what feels a lot like assured steps, but to the casual observer appears to be uncoordinated stumbling, Cas practically throws himself into Dean’s arms. He hugs his Imlad tightly and buries his face in his neck, inhaling the lavender-sweet-sweat mix that clings to the skin there. Of Dean's part, all tension releases from his shoulders, and the human huffs a relieved laugh. “Later,” he murmurs, voice a giddy murmur against the pointed shell of Castiel’s ear. “I’ll see you later. After—”

“Yes,” Cas smiles. His mouth presses each letter into the Dean’s flesh. “Will you save me a dance?”

“Yeah,” Dean blurts out. “Yeah, definitely. ‘Course. I mean—” He takes a big, shaky breath. “I don’t have a Bondmate and you… don’t have a Bondmate. Makes sense.”

“Exactly.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

They grin, hesitantly pulling apart.

“So, I’ll see you,” Dean repeats for the third time, stepping back with forced casualness. He stuffs his hands into his pockets again, and shrugs.

“I look forward to it.”

Dean ducks his head while Cas’s grin turns lopsided and as goofy as it’s ever been. In his shyness, the former is not paying attention and his hand slips on the doorknob, almost throwing him off balance. He clears his throat to dispel some of the embarrassment and Castiel bites his lip to keep from laughing.

“Fare well, _mîl hûn_.”

Dean lifts his hand in an awkward, embarrassed little wave. 

“Oh, and Dean?”

He lifts his gaze from the floor.

“...Remember what I said regarding Anna, will you? This day is a celebration of and for _you_ , not some outdated tradition.”

Quiet fills the space beyond Castiel’s sentence, and for a moment the elf is convinced they are going to kiss again. Nothing comes of the staring, however, and both go their separate ways; the human disappearing into Michael’s rooms and his human counterpart bolting towards his own.

This has to mean something, doesn’t it?

 

~ * ~

 

Castiel digs through his wardrobe violently, tossing his robes behind him until there is almost nothing left. He's so focused on his task, he doesn't hear Gabriel enter the room until his brother is at his side, asking if everything is alright.

Cas turns, panicked. "Gabriel, I have nothing to wear!"

Which isn't true, of course; Castiel has a veritable plethora of robes in varying colours and styles. What he means is that he has nothing for the ceremony; nothing that would make him look devastatingly handsome while not seeming like he's trying too hard for it or attempting to outshine Dean—which Cas would and could never do, anyway.

"There's nothing," Castiel breathes, despaired. "In all of this, there is nothing."

A glance to Gabriel shows his brother on the verge of laughter and Cas finds himself even more distressed. "This isn't funny! I need—"

"Something to impress your mortal love?" the other teases. "Look no further." Grabbing a seemingly random piece from the pile, Gabriel presses the garment to Castiel's chest. "There: understated, brings out your eyes."

Cas chews his lip, narrowing his eyes at the plain, wheat coloured canvas fabric and its simple light blue stitching. Perhaps too simple; Castiel normally wears it to casual meals.

"Wear your blue slippers instead of the flats, put on Adar's ring and do your hair properly,” Gabriel shrugs. “With your circlet, it'll be dressed up enough."

He makes a good argument, and one look back to the pile of clothing on Cas’s floor convinces the elf to take his brother’s advice; the lump of colourful fabric is tangled and large and intimidating, and he has no desire to sift through it. Nodding as if to confirm his decision, Castiel tosses the garment onto his bed and reaches for a hair tie. With all the preparations and overseeing still needing to be done, he doubts he’ll have time to wash his hair. “What are you wearing?” he asks Gabriel, quickly gathering the dark, unruly strands, braids and all. He ties a messy bun and begins to remove his boots.

“Clothes, most likely,” Gabriel shoots back. “I don’t think Dean would take kindly to my stealing the show.”

“No one would take kindly to your nakedness, Gabriel.”

“Kali seems to like it.”

“Kali is your One. That’s different.”

“Well, yeah, _I know that_.” Gabriel rolls his eyes. He seems to be on the cusp of started an argument, but thinks better of it, expression soon morphing into an impish smirk. “ _Anyway_ , you’ll be happy to know I managed to get the things you asked for.”

“You don’t mean…?”

“ _Oh yeah_ , I do.”

“Gabriel!” Propriety be damned, Cas squeezes his brother in a hug. “You are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the best brother ever."

"Well, I don't think you can get _worse_ than Michael and Lucifer—"

"Oh, this is fantastic!" Cas continues, pulling away. "Dean is going to be thrilled, truly. The roof is still alright, isn’t it? You'll ensure we can see them from there?"

"What am I, some kinda amateur? It'll be ready."

Castiel can barely control his smile. He presses his forehead to his brother’s with a wide grin before bounding away towards the bathroom. There is much work to be done, still.

 

~ * ~

 

Radiant is the only word that comes close. Beautiful is high on the list, as is gorgeous and exquisite, but there is something under Dean’s skin that makes him glow like a star; fallen and walking the Earth.

Odd for the winter months, his robes do not tie and wrap traditionally, instead the silky fabric drapes around his body and gathers in a gold clasp at the shoulders, sleeves cascading to the floor in a waterfall of material. They haven't been sewn completely shut, and so leave slits for his arms while the collar cuts shallowly across his front; the fabric there falls loosely over his collarbones, exposing his neck.

The robe in itself is dark green with gold embroidery crawling up the hem in swirls that look like fire, petering out at the knee. A gold and green belt cinches material at his hips, and Dean's bare toes poke out from the veritable sea of fabric on the floor. These colours bring out his irises, their hue made even more vibrant by the kohl lightly outlining the corners of his eyes.

Dean's chosen house symbol, Castiel sees, is that of the Alder tree—a vertical line with three smaller horizontal lines sprouting from its right, symbolizing endurance, passion, and strength. It’s appropriate, and Cas is once again impressed with his boys; knot symbols are the most common House symbols today, but old Elvish blood used to use tree symbolism and their Ogham meanings. No doubt Sam and Dean went looking through the archives to find what is currently painted on the face of Imlad’s foot.

His circlet, too, is something to behold, though it sits more like a crown. Dozens of tiny, shimmering oak leaves have sprouted from the thin rose gold bands of the piece, reaching slightly higher towards the front. It appears as if Tol has taken a bushel of twigs with these minuscule leaves and bent it in a circle before continuing his work; the only thing connecting the two sides a stylized, golden sun.

Dean's hair is tied in the intricate braids befitting his social standing, though instead of leaving some of Imlad's hair free free, Anna has collected every strand but the two at his temples, and incorporated it into a multi-textured do; little braids weaved into the larger base and beads tied in for meaning. The loose strands have been curled. It's beautiful, there's no doubt, but Cas finds himself preferring Dean's hair stuck with twigs and mud from training or wet with sweat from the smith. Though, the fact that the style gathers in one huge braid allows the back of Dean's robe to be visible: the collar dips to the small of his back, and material rests loosely there. The design is made even more intricate by the gold chain connecting the fabric at his shoulder blades. Though _Naneth_ 's broach is pinned where cloth gathers at his left shoulder, Dean's neck, wrists, and fingers remain bare of jewelry.

He is truly radiant, and as the human speaks his Words, Castiel finds he has trouble listening. He'd love Dean if he were dressed in a hemp sac, but to see him like this...

Cas can hardly believe this creature let him kiss him.

He smiles throughout the duration of Dean's speech, fingers laced with Sam's beneath their sleeves as they stand at the front of the crowd. The youngest Winchester grins at his brother proudly. "He looks so good," he whispers as Dean continues to speak. Castiel nods.

And then Dean Winchester's _Peth_ is done, and he has not moved from his place on the dais.

"If I could just take one more minute of your time," he stutters, looking directly at Cas. Though the elf has no idea what his friend is doing, he smiles encouragingly. Dean nods to himself and continues, pointedly, in English. "When Sam and I were small, a great tragedy befell our family: we lost our parents to a dragon, and if not for the kindness of Michael and his house, I don't know that we would have survived." It's odd to hear him speak so formally, and Dean loses momentum under the heavy propriety of his words. When he looks to Castiel, the elf smiles more widely. _Imlad_ takes a deep breath.

"Michael cannot be here today, but I appreciate all he has done for us," Dean continues shakily. "Gabriel and Anael, also, have been infinitely patient with my brother and I. But... but the person without whom I would not be standing here today, stands beside Sam."

As the people in the room rustle to get a look, Cas feels his heart stutter to a stop.

"Cas—Castiel," Dean corrects, looking only at him. "You've done so much for us. I don’t know where we'd be without your songs and your stargazing and your kindness. Sam and me—we owe you everything. You went above and beyond what was asked of you in caring for us." Dean takes a breath. "There are still times when I miss my parents," he admits. "But the sharpness of my grief has long passed... now, when I wish I could see them, it's so that I could introduce you. 'Cause Cas—" His voice cracks and Dean cuts himself off, taking a moment to regain composure. "Castiel, I know they'd've loved you."

Though Sam squeezes his hand, Cas has eyes only for Dean. Mind you, his vision is beginning to blur as wetness threatens to spill onto his cheeks, but the human is just as alluring as an indistinct green blob.

"So, yeah," Dean tapers off, awkward. "Thank you. And thank you to everyone here tonight; I really didn't expect there to be this many of you."

The small crowd claps somewhat hesitantly, its members no doubt uncomfortable with the content of Dean's addendum. Ignoring them, Castiel steps onto the dais beside him for his own part of the ceremony. Adhering to the ongoing theme of unorthodoxy, the elf skips the required niceties and jumps right in: "Those of you that know him personally surely already know of Dean's sweetness and strength," Cas begins. "And those who don't, well... you'll certainly learn.

"Dean Winchester steals the hearts of all who meet him; no one is spared... though I'm not sure why you'd want to be. I may have taught him all I know but he continues to teach me every day. His passion is infectious, his bravery is unparalleled, and his generosity is, in my humble opinion, something we should all aspire to. He is loyal to a fault, and whoever has the privilege of being chosen as his One is incredibly fortunate." Pausing, Castiel raises his glass. "So, to celebrate this amazing young man and his journey into adulthood, I propose a toast." Cas turns to Dean. "To Dean Winchester," he continues. "May you find happiness around every corner, love at every crossroads, and may adventure weave through your story like a river: filling up each blank space with fantastical tales. I wish you all the best in your future endeavours and pray to _Eru_ that you'll not only find yourself well and safe, but..." Castiel has to stop to swallow the lump in his throat. "But that you won’t forget us even as your greatness leads you down whatever path you choose for yourself. For you will do great things, Dean, of that I am absolutely certain. _Almiën_!”

The word is echoed back to him, but Cas can barely hear it; not for any other reason than he is completely mesmerized by the conflicted look on Dean's face. The human appears to be simultaneously shocked by Castiel's toast, and saddened by it, and Cas is seriously debating hugging him in front of everybody—propriety be damned—when Adina appears seemingly out of nowhere, and asks Dean for a dance.

"Uh... sure," the other replies as he's dragged away. Dean throws a panicked look over his shoulder and Cas attempts to smile encouragingly, but it isn't sincere. Certainly, Adina is beautiful and intelligent, and is very academically inclined. Her mild temperament and protective nature would make her a wonderful Bondmate.

...But Castiel doesn't want Dean to choose Adina; he wants Dean to choose him. He wants to find a secluded corner and kiss him until daybreak. He wants to press his love into Dean's body and pray it is returned.

The song ends, and Cas has barely taken a step before Hael sweeps in to take Adina's place. Next is Daniel, then Arael, then Hester. A slew of other's follow, and Castiel busies himself with playing host so he doesn't have to look. Despite the fact that Dean kissed him, he looks to be having a great time with his dance partners, and Cas has to remind himself that one kiss is not a claim to a human. Besides, dancing does not equate love. In fact, he should be on the floor as well (still Unbonded himself) but Castiel doesn't have the desire nor the energy to pretend to want another person.

“Cas? You okay?”

“As wonderful as I can possibly be, Master Sam,” Cas replies. His smile is certainly more of a grimace, judging by the answering expression on Sam’s face. Clearing his throat, Castiel tries again. “Are you hungry? I know you don’t enjoy all of Dean’s favourite foods, but I ensured to put in an order for things you like as well.”

Sam narrows his eyes ever so slightly, and Castiel feels his palms begin to sweat. Though _Esseru_ hasn’t yet acknowledged whatever _thing_ is going on between he and his elder brother, they haven’t exactly been alone recently to have the conversation. Cas prays to _Eru_ Sam doesn’t choose to have it here.

“You know, you’re worrying for nothing.”

Castiel splutters.

“I just mean,” the human continues casually, nodding to Dean. “He’s kinda crazy about you. No two minute dance is gonna change that.” Smiling, he gives Cas a smile. “You’ve waited this long, right?”

“Sam—”

Sam shrugs. “I’m not gonna say it’s not weird—‘cause it really is: he’s my brother and you’re my guardian and friend, but you make each other happy. I can’t stand in the way of that. I wouldn’t want to, anyway.” Reaching forward, _Esseru_ covertly tugs at Castiel’s sleeve in a movement of solidarity. “I’m happy for you guys, Cas. So, y’know… relax. Don’t worry. Besides, the last dance is the only one he’ll remember, anyway.”

Grinning, Sam turns to make his way towards the food.

And Castiel, taking his friend’s advice, waits patiently for Dean to finish dancing with everyone—to be his _last_.

…But with every passing partner, Sam’s words fade and leave Cas’s stomach twisting in knots: What if Dean feels nothing but friendship? He's just a very physical person, after all. Or what if he’s changed his mind? Contrarily, what if he wants _Gwedh_ as well? What if he wants it and Cas finds a way of messing it up? Or what if _Idril_ and _Tuor_ were exceptions and Dean won’t be able to Bond with him?

No matter the possible outcome, Castiel is sick with nerves.

"Y'know, for a guy in love with the Name Day Boy, you're sure avoiding him a heckuva lot."

Castiel jumps from his place beside the cheese table, glaring at his brother and pushing him out of his space. "I'm not _avoiding_ him. I'm giving him space."

"Right, because he needed so much space when you were eating his face like six hours ago."

" _Gabriel_!" Cas hisses. "How do you know about that?"

"A good gossip never reveals his sources."

Castiel glares.

"What can I say?" Gabriel replies, hands raised innocently. "I'm invested! Come onnn, Cassie, you could've been dancing all night at this point! What are you so afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid."

To his brother's unimpressed look, Castiel's shoulders slump. "Earlier today..." He trails off, fingers drifting up to touch his own lips. "What if he's change his mind? What if he wants somebody else now? What if dancing with all these people has made him realize he doesn't love me? Or—Or what if he does?" Blue eyes widening in panic, Cas grabs his brother's arm. "Gabriel what if he loves me back? What do I—" His breath is coming in short spurts that cause him to choke on the rest of his sentence, and Gabriel places his palms on Castiel's shoulders to ground him. It only barely works, and not very well.

"What do you do?" the elder echoes quietly. "Cas, you do what you've done all along."

Getting a handle on his breathing proves difficult, but Castiel manages to hiccup a reply: "W-What's that?"

" _Love him back_." A pause. "Look."

Gabriel nods to the dance floor and Cas follows his gaze obediently, still wholly overwhelmed. Dean is smiling at him, but he appears to be concerned.

Smiling in return, Castiel ducks his head before Dean can see him blush to his eyebrows.

"I'm always right, Cassie," Gabriel teases, smirking at his brother's sudden scowl. "What did I tell you? You were fated from the moment Michael brought him to our doorstep."

“You're not _always_ right,” Cas grouses. “Besides, Dean and I are not fated. We... I mean, _I_ —and he…”

“You’re a regular _Daeron_ ,” Gabriel mutters, raising a mocking brow. “With a tongue like that, it’s a wonder you haven’t written a song for each individual freckle on his nose.”

Cas blushes profusely. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Aww, but you blush so pretty—"

“ _U-bedo_ , Gabriel.”

"Yeah, okay, Loverboy. Go save your _Tuor_ from Anna's small talk. It's a fate worse than death."

With a little push, Cas stumbles towards the dance floor. He doesn't remember how he gets from the edge of the dancefloor to tapping on Anna's shoulder, but he must, somehow, because in moments he's there, asking to cut in. "May I...?"

“Yes, of course!” Anna says. She immediately steps away, hand covertly coming up to squeeze Dean's elbow. “Be careful, please.” 

Both men nod while Castiel takes her place smoothly, bowing to his partner with what he hopes is a smile. It's honestly hard to tell how his own face is moving at this point, as most of his energy is focused on not vomiting. Cas must do well, however, because Dean smiles back and bows himself: "I was startin' to think you didn't want to dance with me," he teases as they begin to move. The way he speaks is a dead giveaway to playing off his nerves. "Or... maybe you forgot, or something."

The thing about elvish dancing, is that the couple is not supposed to touch. Of course there are exceptions, like on Castiel’s own Name Day when he’d been too drunk to stand straight and had had to steady himself on his sister, or during a Bonding Ceremony where the couple shares their first close dance… not unlike the way he and Dean had moved on the balcony last time. If Cas were feeling ill, perhaps he could have asked for a hand, or if they’d been following _Mel Ubed_ properly, Castiel could have brushed his fingers along Dean’s hips or arms or jaw… but with the way things currently stand, the laws of propriety prevent the elf from offering any sort of comforting touch to his _Imlad_.

Which makes his heart break, because there is nothing more Castiel wants to do than hug the man he loves.

“Never,” he says instead, settling on a quiet fierceness to get his point across. “I could never forget about you or… or not want to be with you. I love being near you, _mîl hûn_ … I love…” Castiel can’t say it. Not here. Not with all these people around. “I love being near you. Always.”

Dean’s face is bright red, and Cas fears that he’s overstepped. He’s never been so verbally bold in public, and it’s possible that’s not something his companion enjoys. Chewing his lip, Castiel clears his throat to apologize when Dean reaches out to purposefully brush their fingers, knowing full-well the action is prohibited. “Good,” he says, voice shaky. “I also… yeah.”

“Yeah?” Cas teases.

“Come on,” Dean blushes. “Like you’re any better at this than I am.”

It’s the first time either has verbally acknowledged even the possibility of something between them, and though nerves crash against Castiel's ribcage, they’re quickly consumed by a pulsing, hopeful warmth. “No,” the elf smiles. “I suppose I’m not.” Conversation peters out between them, giving way to a comfortable silence as they spin and move. Often, Cas is tempted to reach out and touch: the wispiness of Dean’s robes, the silk of his hair, his bared flesh and the way muscle plays beneath the skin in the torchlight... but he refrains; it wouldn’t do to draw attention to themselves. At least, not anymore than they do already. 

“Your Words were lovely, by the way.” Castiel breaks the silence during a spin. Hopefully speaking will distract him from his other, more base desires. “I wanted to see you afterwards, but you had too many suitors. And then you looked as if you were having a nice time and I didn’t want to intrude. But I’m very thankful for the things you said about me, and… and for the things you said about your family. I’m actually—I’m honoured, is what I’m trying to say. And I’d like to… to hug you, if that’s okay. As soon as we’re alone.”

Dean’s smile turns goofy. “I’ll have to check my schedule.”

“You’re not funny,” Castiel mutters, indignant and embarrassed. “I’m trying to express my gratitude and the way I wish to do so is unavailable to me right now. How else am I supposed to ask you?”

“How ‘bout some way that isn’t so adorable?”

Cas narrows his blue eyes before making a show of looking skyward. He tries, in vain, to stop himself from grinning. “ _Eru_ , we’re not back to cute again, are we? I thought we’d established your superiority in that category.”

“Nah,” Dean replies, the picture of seriousness. “I think it was a draw.”

“I think your human memory is faulty,” Cas retorts. He sticks up his nose and raises a brow. “My far superior senses recall differently.”

Castiel is so caught up in the pleasure of bantering, he all but jumps out of his skin when Gabriel invades their space. “Hey Little Bro, your roof birthday surprise bonanza is ready.”

That’s it.

That’s how Gabriel decides to let Cas know everything is ready; no preamble, no semblance of an attempt to possibly mask the fact that something suspicious is going on—nothing. Gabriel, always a smooth talker, has done this on purpose. Why? The most likely answer is that he enjoys seeing Castiel suffer. 

“Yes, thank you, Gabriel.”

“Great. Dean, you should go check it out. I’ll keep track of Sammy.”

Castiel honestly thinks it would have been less suspicious if he had kidnapped Dean and brought him in a flour sac. He only narrowly avoids smacking his own hand to his forehead with a groan, instead giving his brother a tight smile before turning to Dean. “Would you like to come with me? We’ll go by the balcony.”

“Uh… yeah.” But he doesn’t sound convinced. “Sure?”

Gabriel looks like he’s about three seconds from exploding into laughter, and Cas feels his chest knot uncomfortably. He glares at his brother while the other elf attempts to sober himself. “Seriously Deano, you won’t regret it. The experience’ll be explosive, if you know what I mean. Right?” The eyebrow waggle that accompanies Gabriel’s words comes too close to revealing the surprise while simultaneously alluding to a crude sexual act and Cas is exiting this conversation _immediately_ —

“Don’t pay him any mind,” the elf says, grabbing Dean’s sleeve and tugging him towards the balcony. “You’re going to love it.”

They tear onto the snow-cleared balcony in record time, both panting from their quick journey through the throngs of people. Dean appears to be beyond confused, and Cas doesn’t blame him. He will not, however, give himself up minutes before the grand reveal.

“Cas, what—?”

“First thing’s first.” As soon as the drapes wisp shut, Castiel steps forward and gathers up his friend in a hug. Despite being _incredibly_ close this morning, it feels so good to touch again that Cas sighs with relief. “Thank you for everything you said about me,” he murmurs, burying his face into Dean’s neck. Dean smells like lavender and vanilla and Castiel wants to breathe him forever.

Though understandably bewildered, Dean quickly relaxes in his elf’s arms, heaving a sigh of his own as he tangles fingers in dark hair. “I meant every word,” he confesses quietly. “Besides, I should be the one thanking you. Your toast was really—I don’t deserve a speech like that. Sam, yeah, but not—”

“You deserve everything, Dean,” Cas breathes in return. “Truly. I have no idea why you think so little of yourself but I will spend the rest of your life convincing you otherwise.” Stepping back, Castiel turns to climb onto the freezing balustrade before Dean can give a self-depricating retort. “Come.” He jumps up to grab at the snow-specked marblework on the closest wall, lifting himself to the nearest foot hold before reaching over to climb up a pillar. As soon as he pulls himself onto the roof, he leans over to see Dean’s progress.

Dean is, predictably, still on the balcony. “Are you crazy?” _Imlad_ hisses, looking around as if Michael will come out and reprimand him at any moment. “Get down before you kill yourself!”

“I’m fine,” Cas grins. To prove his point, he tucks his robes between his thighs and the marble, hooks his feet on a slippery slab of it and dangles, upside down and hands free for a moment. “See? Step onto the balustrade, I'll pull you up."

"I think I'll pass."

“Don't you trust me?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “What kind of dumb question is that? Of course I trust you!”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Castiel asks. He wriggles his fingers invitingly. “I won’t let you fall.”

“Yeah well, it’s a little late for that.”

The comment is muttered under Dean’s breath and Cas can only barely hear it. With the background noise from the party, he’s convinced he must have misheard. “Sorry?”

“What? Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”

A frown. “All... right.”

Dean carefully climbs onto the structure, cursing everything as his toes grip the edges of the balustrade as tightly as possible. Castiel re-hooks his feet and extends an arm.

It takes a few moments of awkward shifting and colourful language, but eventually, Dean is sitting on the roof. He’s also gripping Castiel’s waist like they’ll fall at any moment, and though Cas knows he should probably say something to try and put his friend at ease, he enjoys their closeness too much to do so. “Come this way, we’ll get a better view.”

They crawl to one the few flat roof spaces in all of _Imladris_ , his people often preferring domes and spires to areas where water could collect and eat away at marble. This one place, however, must have been created for skygazing, and it fits both men comfortably. It's been cleared of snow, and fits a handful of soft, warm blankets and a small basket for food and drink. Castiel’s relief that Gabriel remembered the latter few items is palpable.

“There’s cheese and bread in case you’re hungry,” Cas says quickly. “And I have your coat. There are extra blankets, too, if you’re cold. I tried to get human drink—whiskey and red wine and the like, but I wasn’t able to procure it so there’s sweetwine instead. I could also get pillows, if you need them. O-Or something else. We don’t have to stay here. I know you’re not thrilled by the prospect of being up high, but I just thought this would be nice. Silly now, to think I’ve made you do something you don’t enjoy, even if we’ll have the best view. We should get down. We can, I’ll help you. Or we could stay.  With the blankets we won’t have to worry about being cold—really, you won’t have to worry. My robe seems to be warmer so I should be fine, but you—you, um, look radiant, by the way.”

Castiel all but swallows his tongue, skin aflame. Dean is staring at him. He’s staring and that’s it, Cas has messed it all up: their friendship and whatever else could possibly have been between them and everything everything is finished and done and this entire idea was stupid and too much and he shouldn’t have brought the food or the blankets and he _certainly_ shouldn’t have said the word _radiant_ —

Dean reaches over with a shy little smile, the thing barely there but for how it tugs up the corner of his mouth. He sticks his hand in the basket on Castiel’s other side, playfully nudging their noses together before he moves back with two glasses in one hand, and pieces of bread and cheese in the other. Placing the glasses on the floor and the food in his lap, Dean rearranges them until they’re pressed together side-to-side, each with a small glass of wine in their hands, and cheese and bread in their laps. He pulls on his coat and they lean up against the domed roof at their backs.

“So, what’m I looking for?” Dean asks as he lolls his head to the side, smiling. His nose is a mere inch from Castiel’s and the elf swallows thickly. He stuffs a piece of cheese past his lips.

Perhaps this wasn’t such a terrible idea, after all.

 

~ * ~

 

This was a terrible idea; not bringing Dean up to the roof—no, that was brilliant. Having a late-night picnic and over-looking Rivendell with it’s lanterns and music and night-blackened waterfalls… that was a good idea. The bad idea was thinking he could get his hands on wizard’s fireworks, and trust Gabriel to set them off.

They’ve been sitting for about a quarter of an hour, and the only things in the sky have been the stars themselves. Not that they’re not gorgeous or impressive in their own right, but Castiel had had this vision of what the night was going to be, and how happy and thrilled it would have made Dean, and none of that is going to happen. Certainly, his best friend is happy to be sitting with him, close and undisturbed since literal months (as is Cas), but Castiel had had a _plan_.

Within the time they’ve been sitting together, their noses have turned pink from the cold and they've pulled on their gloves. The food has been polished off, and the wine has been put away. Cas’s stomach lurches when he thinks of their unspoken agreement to drink only one glass each; the elf hopes that Dean maintains his sobriety so they can kiss each other unimpaired later in the evening.

Though, to be completely honest, Castiel has no idea if there’s going to be any kissing at all: they've been sitting next to each other, blissfully alone, for _one quarter of an hour_. And Cas loves speaking with Dean, and listening to him, and cuddling with him (because, somehow, they’ve managed to become a tangled mess of limbs under a veritable mountain of blankets), but he’d like to kiss him again. Multiple times, even. Everywhere. How is he supposed to know if it’s okay to do that if Dean hasn’t made any indication that he’s interested in that kind of contact again? They’ve been acting as they always do when they’re together and it’s confusing.

“So… didja get me a present?” Dean's voice breaks through Cas's thoughts, teasing as he nudges the other's arm. Castiel is grateful for the mental reprieve. “I mean, I got you this _awesome_ quiver for your Name Day.”

“If you’ll remember, I gave you a pin once.” Leaning into Dean's space, Cas raises a playful brow, flicking the bauble in question. “Ungrateful.” But instead of pulling back, Castiel remains where he is, still unable to fully grasp that his friend—the person he's in love with—is wearing his mother's broach even after all these years.

Dean tenses at their immediate proximity, relaxing in time with Castiel's widening, playful smile. Pink lips turn up in an answering grin of their own, the expression softening to something more lovely as foreheads lightly press together. "I could... give you something else?" Castiel asks. His voice barely trembles atop his nervousness and anticipation. "To make it fair."

Dean's eyes are a veritable sea of greens and golds up close, ever changing as the human shifts to bump their noses together. "...Like what?" His gaze drops to Castiel’s lips.

Cas kisses him.

 

 

His heart almost stops beating as he leans in, anxiety forcing him to hesitate for half a second before their mouths touch. Much like their other kiss, this one is soft and sweet, though admittedly infinitely more relaxed. Castiel dips his head minutely for a better angle, and Dean tangles his fingers in his own robes. The human stutters his breath before releasing his fists and grasping at Cas's shoulders, while the elf’s hands move to rest on Dean’s waist. Soon enough, the need for air outweighs the need for closeness and Castiel pulls away just long enough for a single breath. “Something like that, maybe?” he murmurs against red lips.

Dean's eyes are closed when Castiel moves back far enough for them to come into focus, the green slowly becoming visible as they flutter open. He's completely silent, and Cas's heart squeezes in panic; words trip over themselves to jump off his tongue: _I'm sorrys_ and _forgive mes_.

But then Dean begins to smile. 

Castiel feels as if a weight has abruptly dropped off his shoulders and sways with the lack of it; lips curling upwards and forehead pressing against Dean's. He can't help the huff of a laugh that escapes his mouth, and grins more widely when his companion all but _giggles_ in response. "Since I'm twenty one and all, do I get more than one?" Dean asks playfully.

Cas's stomach flip-flops and he bites his lip, reaching forward to brush back a lock of light hair. Never before having attempted seduction, but having read extensively on the topic, he then tucks it behind Dean's ear, gloved fingers tracing the rounded shell as he presses his mouth to plush lips. "I could kiss you for every year you've walked this Earth," he pulls back to murmur. Another kiss. "Or for every month." Kiss. "Or week." Kiss. "Or day." Kiss. "Hour." Kiss. "Minute." Castiel lingers close to Dean's mouth, whispering his next words into their shared space: "...For every second you've been alive."

As Cas awaits Dean's answer, he's certain the entire world has forgotten how to breathe.

Dean leans in.

Their kisses turn shorter, tinged with desperation but not overwhelmed by it as they hold one another. They fall into a rhythm; fabric whispering as they move and grasp and grip. Their lips audibly smack together until Dean pulls back, teeth dragging against Cas's bottom lip by mistake. A surprised moan jumps up Castiel's throat.

" _Eru_ , I'm so sorry, Cas," Dean rushes to say. "You okay? Did I hurt you?"

Castiel nods and touches his fingertips to his bottom lip with a frown. "Yes—I mean, no, I..." A pause. "That was good."

"Good?" Dean asks, nervous.

"Here, look:" the elf leans in and kisses his companion soundly, continuing until the tension bleeds away from Dean's shoulders. As soon as the other is comfortable, Castiel tries his hand at recreating the slide of his teeth over the plump, pink flesh of a bottom lip. Dean is so shocked, he pulls away.

"...Good?" Cas hedges. The hand that had drifted up to trace Dean's jaw falls away.

"Yeah, no, that was..." Freckles are drowned in the flush of his cheeks and Dean quickly dips his head to catch Castiel's mouth. "We can do more of that," he breathes.

Cas grins widely into their next kiss, breath hitching when Dean takes the gloves off his hand and presses it to his face once more. The elf nips at his lips in response, swallowing Dean's gasp. With an experimental trace of his tongue, their kisses turn wet and open mouthed; fingers tightening where they're grasped and soft hums and groans filling the space between them. Castiel pulls Dean's gloves and then his companion himself before he's even aware of it, craving only closeness. 

He's a little overwhelmed when Dean swings over a leg to straddle him.

His _Imlad_ is pressed against him from the hip up, and Cas's hands immediately go to splay across his back. The bare skin is incredible against his palms and he hums his appreciation, slipping his thumbs under the loose material at Dean's waist. His fingers drift down to where the garment falls in soft folds above his posterior, and a hum escapes from Dean's throat.

There's a bang.

It forces the two to spring apart, Dean's eyes widening as Cas feels his heart rate steady and a smile steal across his lips. Above them, shimmering colours paint the night sky. They play over Dean's face beautifully, and Castiel cannot stop himself from pressing a kiss to his companion's cheek. "Happy Name Day, Dean."

"What are they?" _Imlad_ asks, awed. Barely managing to tear himself away from the display, he blushes at their immediate proximity. They're practically nose-to-nose.

"Fireworks," Castiel replies. "Special fireworks. I was told to ask a wizard in a grey pointed hat about them, but I'm not certain Gabriel heeded that council. I asked him to help me by getting the contraband and setting it off. He didn't manage to do the latter on time, but I think they're beautiful don't you—"

Dean kisses the question mark from his lips. "Thanks, Cas."

"It's my pleasure," Castiel replies, if a little breathless.

They settle, then, cuddling while watching the fireworks. There are explosions of colour in all different shades, and a select few go off as specific shapes: there are spirals and squares, and one that leaves a flock of shimmering golden birds in it's wake. They dive and flap towards each other in playful bursts of colour before shimmering out completely.

Castiel isn't sure how long after that point he and Dean begin kissing again, but it happens eventually. So completely wrapped up in one another, they miss the big finale of colour splashed across the sky, instead rocking lightly together and kissing wetly. Every new way they touch is a revelation, and Castiel is reeling by the time they drift apart, panting and pressing their foreheads together. Twin smiles stretch across their faces, and there's a beat before Dean presses their mouths together again, the act hindered by the wide upturn of his lips. Cas can't help the huffs of unadulterated joy that tumbling from his lips, and it's with held hands and chaste kisses that they finally decide to come down from their perch. "I don't want to," Cas confesses.

"Me neither."

"But we should."

"Yeah."

"People will start to wonder."

"Mmhm."

It takes another half hour for the pair to find themselves stumbling onto the balcony. They walk as if they're intoxicated, leaning against each other with huge, wide smiles. Laughing and murmuring with each step, elf and human thread their fingers together like two parts of a singular unit.

Cas begins drifting towards the festivities, his yelp of surprise turning into a laugh as Dean crowds him into a shadowed nook. "One more one more," _Imlad_ murmurs, leaning in.

Cas is smiling so widely, he can't answer. The elf merely pulls his partner in close, pressing their mouths together with unbridled enthusiasm. Of course, one kiss turns to two turns to three turns to seven, and it isn't long before Castiel is mouthing at Dean's neck, his left leg hooked around the other's waist. They're completely flush, and while Cas is enjoying their current position, he'd much prefer doing this while horizontal.

Not to mention the fact that he's so completely riled, his arousal is unmistakable underneath his robes. And while Dean doesn't seem to mind, Cas is certain the rest of his guests will. "P-Perhaps we should—" Dean rolls their hips. "Mmm… we should retire early?"

_Imlad_ freezes.

Green eyes are wide and swollen lips are parted and he looks so delicious, so kissable and so utterly shocked that Castiel wants to shrivel up and die of embarrassment. "Not if you don't wish it!" he rushes to exclaim. "Of course we don't have to. We should—we should go find Sam a-and… I just need—I need a minute to, um, to compose myself.”

As he begins breathing deeply, Dean's lips quirk in proud a little grin. In opposition to Castiel's desire to cool down, the human leans in to kiss him again, once again rolling his hips in earnest. Cas groans. "Dean, you're not— _Eru_ **_oh_** , you're not helping."

Dean throws a look over his shoulder, most likely scanning the thin crowd for his brother before shrugging. "Let's go to bed."

Castiel's heart is pounding so hard, his own gulp is faint in his ears. "Are you, um—really?"

"Yeah." Dean's grin is contagious. "Sammy's fine—" It's true, over Dean's shoulder Cas can see him conversing with Anna. "—Michael's nowhere around..." He kisses Cas sweetly. "Invite me to your bed, _bainon_."

The smile on Castiel's lips turns soft as he shrugs, fingers drifting up to lightly thumb the bolt of a chiseled jaw. "You don't need an invitation."

Dean kisses him in reply.

"Yeah?" _Imlad_ 's cheeks pink lightly in response, and he clears his throat as if to regain his footing. Quickly dipping his head, he catches Castiel's thumb between his teeth and nips. "Good to know."

They make it to Cas's chambers in record time, hands clutched tight between them as they sneak down hallways until reaching the desired door. Castiel doubts he's ever walked so fast in his life.

 

~ * ~

 

Michael is going to die here. These idiots are going to keep him in this ridiculous meeting with their inane questions and unending, pointless discussion until Dean Winchester seduces his brother and beds him, effectively ruining him for any and all other possible romantic attachments. The entire point of this gathering was to keep Castiel safe, and now he's no doubt in Dean's clutches, completely pliable under that microbe's filthy palms. 

_I am wholly and completely enamoured of Dean Winchester._

Michael was not able to save Lucifer from himself, and he cannot save Castiel from a measly human being.

"... _Hir vuin_?" 

"Hm?"

The entire council has eyes on him, and Michael forces a smile. "Apologies," he says. "Metatron, what of our arrangement with Mirkwood?" 

As expected, Michael sits with the Council in their sham of a meeting until sunrise.

 

~ * ~

 

Their outerwear has long since been shed, the garments pushed off and gathered in damp piles by the door. Castiel’s shoes had been next; kicked off in the middle of the room as Dean had pulled at the laces of his robes. The shoulder of it had been pushed back while the elfling had undone Dean’s back clasp and tugged at his slitted sleeve, bearing gorgeously freckled skin.

They’d stumbled and fumbled towards the bed until the back of Cas’s knees had hit it, the elf tumbling back and dragging his flushed, debauched-looking companion with him. That’s where they are currently: on the bed, clumsily kissing and pawing at each other like their lack of experience—their graceless, ungainly attempts at romance—are the height of seduction.

Dean nibbles on Castiel’s bottom lip, grinning when the elf inhales sharply.

But instead of pressing forward for more, Cas sits up, wrenching himself away.

The room suddenly feels too small, and they’re too wrapped up in each other, and it’s nice, so nice, but Castiel needs to remember that he’s in love with this mortal, finite, _human_ man, and that means they’re equals. That means Cas shouldn’t lie to him, ever. That means Dean has a right to know everything.

Even is there’s a chance _everything_ will send him running.

“Cas?”

Castiel ducks his head and squeezes his eyes shut, looking away. His teeth sink into his bottom lip and he swallows thickly, as if doing so will keep tears from spilling onto his cheeks. “Dean, I… I haven’t been honest.”

“About what?” Dean asks, concerned. “Is this…?” Realization dawns on his face. “You don’t want—”

“No!” Cas whirls back around, wetness collecting at the corners of his eyes. “No, I want. Dean, I—” Reaching forward, Cas tangles his fingers in light hair, pressing their foreheads together. Their circlets clank softly. “ _I want_ ,” he croaks. “But I’m…”

“You’re…?” Dean’s eyes are big and green. “You’re scarin’ me, Cas. Is it Michael? ‘Cause I swear, I’ll—” 

“It’s not Michael,” Castiel says. Biting his lip, he forces a little smile. “Though admittedly, he’s a problem. It’s…” A breath. “ _Gwedh_ is not something that happens on a purely intangible plain. There’s a space—all elves are born with some sort of… of gap in their souls for another person: for a Bond. But I never… Dean, I don’t have one. And I’m not pale and I've started growing—sometimes I need to shave, and my hair isn’t—It’s me, I’m not—”

The corner of Dean’s mouth quirks up in a smile. “And?”

“And?” Cas echoes, incredulous. “For an elf, I’m _abnormal_. There is something _wrong with me_. Biologically. I—mmph!”

Dean silences Castiel with a kiss, swallowing every doubt on his tongue and turning his thoughts to dust. Humming, the elf presses them together more firmly. He’s dazed when Dean pulls back only to trail his mouth towards the bolt of his jaw, nipping at the skin there before continuing up to his ear. Lips brushing the shell, Cas holds to his companion tightly.

“Guess we make a good pair,” Dean breathes.

Castiel’s breath gets stuck in his throat. “I don’t understand.”

“Well,” the other sighs, pressing his mouth to Cas’s pulse point. He licks and sucks at the skin there before looking up, coy. Castiel almost swallows his tongue. “I’m pretty much the most abnormal elf you’ll ever meet.”

For the first time since he realized he was different, Cas finds doesn’t mind.

He carefully brings a hand up to nudge at Dean’s chin before swooping down to meet him in a kiss. _Imlad_ responds immediately. He pushes into the contact and grins widely, hands moving to grasp Castiel’s waist as he throws his weight over his companion. They land on the pillows with a muffled ‘oof’.

“You okay?” Dean breathes, kissing his way through a smile. Hands slide under Cas’s robes and the elf spreads his legs, planting his feet firmly on the mattress. He lifts his hips until fabric gathers at his waist, looping an arm across his companion’s broad, freckled back amidst their kisses as the elf’s other hand tugs on Dean’s clothing.

When Dean thumbs at the waistband of his underclothes, he falters.

“Y-yes,” Cas stutters, though admittedly, he’s not certain if he’s answering _Imlad_ ’s question, or encouraging him to keep touching.

Either way, the human seems to have a fascination with Castiel’s hips. It’s a quirk the elf discovers once he’s completely bare; of course, Dean himself is still half-clothed, but the way he works his mouth down Castiel’s neck and sucks at his collar bone, the way he teases the dusky pink of Cas’s nipples with his tongue, leaves little room for thought beyond _please don’t stop never stop_. Dean moves past Castiel’s sternum until he’s nipping at the dips of the elf’s hips, tracking wetness across his lower abdomen. He kisses a line from one sharp jut to the other before green eyes flick up, darkened.

Castiel is breathless.

He aches in a way that is somehow familiar and wholly new, leaning up on his elbows in an attempt to chase the sharp, pleasurable drop of his stomach. Though for how wonderful Cas feels, he catches something nervous in Dean’s gaze. Reaching forward, the elf brushes his thumb across his companion spit-slicked bottom lip with a frown. Is he alright? Does he no longer want this?

“De- _ean_?” The name cracks halfway off his tongue.

It cracks because Dean presses a big, wet kiss on his belly, just above his hardened cock.

Whatever else Cas was going to say—he can’t remember—gets lost in a gasp. His toes curl in anticipation, body coiling in preparation for… _something_. Touching, most likely. He wants to be touched. He _needs_ —

“ _Oh_!”

Dean _kisses_ his cock.

He smirks after he’s done, too, clearly proud at himself for eliciting an almost full-body reaction from his partner; Cas has fallen back onto the pillows, legs spread as wide as they can go, chest heaving with aftershocks of sensation. “Dean,” he pants. “ _D-Dean_!”

If kissing felt good, it doesn’t hold a candle to the little teasing licks _Imlad_ bestows upon him. And that pales in comparison to the way Castiel’s entire Universe hatters when Dean sucks his cockhead between his lips. It’s crude, and dirty, and some part of Cas’s elvish mind recoils at the utter _baseness_ of the action… but oh _Eru_ is the sensation ever incredible. It’s Earth-shattering; the wet heat against the blunt head of his dick coupled with the sensation of Dean’s clever, curious, glorious fingers around his shaft and balls. The elf can do little more than arch his back squeeze his eyes shut… and, as Dean takes more of him into the blessed suction that is his mouth, bury his fingers in light hair.

He honestly isn’t even certain the noises he’s making are words, despite the fact that Cas is trying to speak. He wants to shower his _Imlad_ in love and affection and compliments while simultaneously begging him to slow down because I _can’t last I refuse I **refuse**_ to reach orgasm without you.

Thankfully, Dean slows down (marginally) soon after, and it’s enough for Castiel to regain some composure. He pulls his partner up from his lap and kisses him senseless. Shame long turned to desperate need, Cas then partakes in the sloppy sort of kissing elves stay away from; the kind that has Castiel throwing his weight over so Dean tumbles into the pillows and Cas can rut against his clothing.

The fact that he’s still wearing anything at all is ludicrous.

Castiel decides to rectify that.

He pulls at Dean’s robes and underclothes until they’re a pile at the foot of his bed, too preoccupied with making his human feel fantastic to truly look at him. Besides, Cas cares little and less for physical appearance; it’s Dean’s soul he loves.

Crushing their mouths together, Castiel clumsily aligns their hips, his own spit-damp cock pressing against Dean’s balls. The contact makes Dean keen and Cas gasp, and the elf only briefly acknowledges the precome-slicked head of his partner’s dick before his realigning them and rolling his hips.

Dean wrenches away from their kiss with a moan.

Castiel doubts he’s ever been more proud of himself.

The elf moves down to suck and bite and lick at his _Imlad_ ’s neck, intent on leaving a mark but unsure how to properly do so. He soon becomes so focused on that, the rhythm of his hips suffers, and Cas quickly abandons his endeavor for something more pleasurable. Reaching down to touch them both, Castiel uses what precome they have to slick up both their cocks.

Dean groans. “ _Fuck_ … where’d you learn that?”

Cas pauses. It takes everything he has, but he pauses. “P-Pardon?”

“Where’d you—” Dean shifts his hips restlessly and both parties suck in a sharp breath. “Where’d you learn how to do that?”

Castiel shrugs, leaning in for another kiss. They shift again and Dean rolls his hips deliberately this time. Castiel drops his head to the other’s chest. “Had... a lot of time to imagine,” he pants. “To fantasize about you in my bed.”

“Fuck, Cas…”

Dean whines at that, leaning up to force them into a sitting position as he kisses his partner with wild abandon, hands buried in dark hair and hips scooting closer until they’re practically on top of each other and touching everywhere and there is no way Cas is going to last he can’t it’s impossible and then Dean is pulling away and _spitting_ between them and it looks so incredibly _filthy_ but Castiel can’t stop his hand from wrapping around them both and spreading the wetness it’s instinct now all of it is instinct but Cas can’t won’t needs to last,  “ _Mîl hûn_ …” A sloppy kiss. “ _Meldanya, melmenya, **mel hûn**_ —”

“Yeah,” Dean pants in response. He begins to roll his hips. “Yeah c’mon, _bainon_. Come for me. Let go, Cas, I got you.” Rubbing their cheeks together, Dean nips at Castiel’s ear, sucking the lobe as Castiel’s arms lock around his back. “Always got you,” he whispers tenderly. “… _Mel hûn_.”

Castiel comes.

He feels his entire body lock up and spasm, sparks of pleasure lighting up every vein and artery he possesses. He holds to Dean as if the human is the only thing left in the world, too overwhelmed to do anything but bury his face in the other’s warm neck, gasping and moaning. His free hand, currently wrapped around both their cocks, falls to his lap, useless. Dean kisses him—hair, cheeks, neck, wherever he can reach—until Cas is functional again.

At which point Castiel takes care of his _Imlad_ with a come-lubed palm and some nibbling kisses.

Dean is louder when he reaches release, and infinitely more gorgeous. With a flush that goes down to his heart, the human comes with a shout, and holds Cas tightly. He’s almost completely knocked out by his orgasm, and Castiel feels pride at that fact. He feels proud that he was the one that reduced such a strong, beautiful, kind man to a jelly-limbed mess of half-mumbled praises. Wrapping arms around him, Cas lays them both back on the bed, grinning when Dean immediately cuddles more closely. Though his green eyes had been hazy with pleasure before, their sharpness is returning, and with it, a cherry red blush to freckled cheeks. “Uh…”

Cas kisses him before he can finish his thought. “You’re magnificent.”

“Cas…” The blush deepens.

Castiel doesn’t pay it any mind. “You are,” he insists. “The fact that you let me touch you at all is… and what you did for me… I simply—I mean, I—”

Smiling, _Imlad_ shrugs and gives his lips a quick, chaste peck. “You’re my Cas.” He speaks as if that’s all there is to understand. As if _my Cas_ is an explanation for the physical manifestation of their affections, and the tender aftermath they’re experiencing now. And perhaps it is. Perhaps the echoed love and trust he feels from those two measly words are what Dean truly means when he offers them up. Castiel certainly hopes so.

He kisses his human with all the warmth he can muster, huffing a laugh when Dean presses closer. The drying come on their bellies sticks to their skin as they shift, and Cas pulls away only to look at the tacky mess curiously. Reaching between them, he swipes a finger through it and brings it to his lips.

Hm, salty and slightly bitter, but not bad.

Dean’s eyes are so wide, Cas is concerned they’ll fall out of his head.

Instead of attempting any sort of verbal reply, the human surges forward, crushing their mouths together in a deep kiss . They stay there for a spell; messy and pressed close, kissing. It isn’t until the unabashed want of Dean’s initial action has simmered to something more comfortable that Castiel pulls away. He doesn’t necessarily want to, but during his own journey of self-discovery, he’s made the mistake of not washing up only once—and it was not pleasant.

However, Dean is apparently is less than thrilled with the idea of Cas leaving the bed, and tugs him back by the wrist: “Hey.” He mumbles the word: half-protest, half-whimper.

Castiel grins and delivers a soft kiss to Dean’s mouth—one becoming two and two becoming three—before the elf presses a palm to his companion’s chest and pulls away. Their lips part with a quiet ‘smack’, a thread of saliva breaking between them. “I’ll be right back,” Cas promises.

Kissing him once more for good measure, Castiel pulls a blanket around his waist and walks into the bathroom on pleasure-weakened legs. He returns moments later with two damp cloths, and locks the door from the inside to ensure they are not disturbed.

When Cas gets there, the towel drops.

Castiel’s cheeks pink rapidly with the way Dean eyes him up and down, the human mimicking his rosy complexion as he bites his bottom lip. Standing before this boy he’s known for two decades, he’s suddenly bashful; Cas’s chin dips as smile tugs at his lips.

He quickly swipes at the warm cloth across his own belly before tossing it atop his towel. As he climbs on the mattress, Dean reaches out for his own cloth, but Cas dips his head to press his mouth to the other’s open palm, instead. “Let me?” he breathes.

Castiel waits for Dean’s nod before catching him in yet another kiss.

Dean inhales sharply at the contact, strong arms encircling tanned shoulders. Castiel, laying them both back, begins to drag the damp towel down Dean’s chest. He keeps their bodies close, never breaking their kiss as he wipes at the his companion’s belly with all the tenderness he possesses. It’s only when Castiel moves lower that his _Imlad_ pulls away with a gasp. Upon pulling away, his eyes are wide. “Cas—”

Castiel smiles sweetly and whispers affection into Dean’s lightly stubbled cheek. His hand, meanwhile, continues to drag the damp cloth over Dean’s limp cock in languid strokes. “You are so incredibly lovely, _mîl hûn_.”

Dean blushes rose red and hides his face in Castiel’s neck. “Cas…” As he protests the compliment, an arm moves to wrap around the softness of his midriff.

Immediately picking up on the action, Cas gently moves the appendage out of the way. Eyes locked on those of his companion, he leans down to kiss love into the roundness Dean had been protecting, keenly aware of every sigh and gasp that escapes his _Imlad_ ’s lips. Even still, the human attempts to stifle his noises.

Castiel is not having that.

The elf supports himself on his elbows as he reaches forward to brush a stray piece of hair form a reddened cheek. “I adore every part of you.” The confession is punctuated with a chaste kiss to Dean’s belly. “Every supposed flaw you perceive yourself to possess, I am enamoured of.”

Dean’s breath hitches and he pulls his gaze away. Thoroughly embarrassed, he bites his lip and throws an arm over his eyes as if to shield himself.

Cas hesitates at that response, before gently moving the appendage out of the way. Green eyes look towards the headboard stubbornly.

"Dean?"

Dean nods. "'M'fine." Castiel’s brows furrow in concern. "Seriously, Cas, I'm okay." But from Cas’s vantage point, he can see wetness collecting in green eyes. Castiel kisses the corners of them and brushes his fingers over _Imlad_ ’s circlet. "May I...?"

"Yeah," he says, blinking rapidly. "Yeah, um, but I want to..." He twirls one of Cas's braids around his finger, smiling when Castiel gives a radiant grin and pulls him into a seated position. Carefully, Dean then removes Cas’s circlet and places it to the side, fingers deftly reaching back to untie one of the other’s braids.

As his fingers card through Castiel’s hair, the elf removes Dean’s headpiece and presses a kiss to where it had rested on his forehead. His heart is beating so hard he’s terrified it will fail.

_They’re touching each other’s hair._

More than that: they’ve removed their circlets and Dean is undoing the rest of his braids. His _Imlad_ ’s hands are buried in the dark brown strands and he’s all but giving Cas a head massage while he presses warmth to his elf’s cheeks and lips and nose.

And then he’s gone.

Cas reaches forward with a confused whine, suddenly understanding Dean’s upset earlier. He opens his mouth to protest, but the sound dies in his throat when Dean grabs the brush from the nearest table. Shaking it a little, _Imlad_ smiles in a way that makes heat rush to Castiel’s cheeks and pulls his heart from his chest. Ridiculously, the elf feels as if his love for this fragile, naked being before him is palpable.

Dean jumps back into bed and Cas is lost.

He’s practically boneless as Dean maneuvers him onto his stomach and brushes out every kink and tangle in his long hair a dozen times over. He tugs on the strands as Castiel threatens to drift off under the exquisite treatment, and grins at every groan and moan that tumbles from his lips. When Cas’s hair is soft and silky, Dean pulls away and Castiel _whines_.

“You good with a bun?” _Imlad_ laughs. He breathes the question into the back of Cas’s head.

Turning over, the elf sighs. “If it has to be over.”

Grinning, Dean pulls back and accidentally takes some of the dark strands with him. He tucks a piece of hair behind Castiel’s pointed ear and regards him in a way he never has before; it’s soft… like perhaps Cas has done something Dean likes, and the elf’s brow gives a shallow quirk as he tilts his head to the side. “What?”

Dean shrugs, cheeks bright red. “Nothin’,” he murmurs, leaning down to nuzzle Castiel’s neck. He fingers a lock of dark hair and Cas has the sneaking suspicion his _melethron_ is embarrassed. “You’re just pretty, s’all. I mean—” He scrambles. “I know you’re not, like, _delicate_ or anythin’ I just—I’ve never really seen you without the braids and you’re—you look, um, fierce a-and gorgeous and—”

Cas forces himself to sit, leaning forward to peck his One’s lips while smothering his own giddy smile. Though they may not be officially Bonded, it feels as if they are in all but name: the kissing, the love making, undoing each other’s braids… Speaking of, Castiel brushes his thumb over Dean’s plump bottom lip before crawling around to untie his _Imlad_ ’s complicated do. “You look very pretty, too,” he murmurs, working at the large tie at the end of his braid. “Clothed… unclothed…”

Dean blushes all the way to his shoulders. Cas presses a gentle kiss the reddened skin.

“…You’re certain you’re okay with this?”

_Imlad_ clears his throat and looks back, raising a brow. Though he’s feigning nonchalance, there is no uncertainty in his voice: “I’m gettin’ a headache here, y’know.”

Castiel’s hearts seems to dance in his chest. He smiles widely and works more quickly, fingers slightly clumsy with relaxation against the light strands. “Well, we can’t have that.” Cas’s hand fumble with a knot. “Bear with me, my fingers as not as clever as yours.”

“Clever, huh?” Dean asks. The main braid comes undone and garners a sigh from both parties.

Castiel undoes the first small twirled piece of hair expertly. He smiles as he answers: “The cleverest.”

It takes more than a few moments, but the elf finally manages to release the last string holding his _Imlad'_ s braids together, and the light strands tumble onto freckled shoulders. Dean moans in relief while his head falls back onto Castiel's body.

Taking advantage of their proximity and all that entails, Castiel massages his scalp before brushing out every knot, much to the joy of his partner. Dean adores the way Cas's fingers work back feeling into his head, and how the elf presses little kisses to his skin in the process. He does this until his _melethron_ is as boneless as a skin of sweetwine, Dean’s head lolling back and forth until Castiel maneuvers them both under the covers and tucks them into bed.

Clumsily, Dean turns over and smiles. He leans into Cas’s hand when the elf brushes light strands from his face, and cuddles into him, pressing lazy, sloppy kisses to his skin. Being naked together like this is not nearly as sexual as Castiel thought it would be. In fact, the entire thing is just… nice. It’s nice to be close, and touching, and _together_. It’s nice to trust Dean enough to sleep with him, and have Dean trust him in return. It’s nice to _feel_ him.

"Goodnight, _mel_ _hûn_ ," Cas whispers. He gives his One a light kiss and Dean barely stirs.

Yes, Dean may not be elvish. He may be finite, and fragile and different. He may be human, and that may bring forth a whole host of differences that will make their situation difficult… but Castiel is in love with Dean Winchester, and Dean Winchester harbors feelings for him in return.

Nothing anyone says or does can change that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> _Imladris _: Rivendell__  
>  _Imlad_ : Dean  
>  _Esseru_ : Sam  
>  _Peth_ : Words  
>  _Naneth_ : Mother  
>  _Meleth_ : Lifepartner/Bondmate (gender neutral)  
>  _Melethron_ : Lifepartner/Bondmate (male)  
>  _Gwedh_ : Soulbond  
>  _Daeron_ : Most talented minstrel in Elvish history, also skilled linguist.  
>  _U-bedo_ : Shut up, Gabriel.  
>  _Almiën_ : To good fortune!  
>  _Bainon_ : Beautiful  
>  _Edhellen_ : Elf (Elf-kind)  
>  _Mîl hûn... Meldanya, melmenya, mel hûn_ : Kind heart… My dear, my love, my heart.  
> 


	13. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is tons of loving, and Michael is an assbutt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's taken forever, but I have finally completed another chapter! I am so so sorry for the long wait; school was incredibly hectic and then holidays have been, too, so far. But after so long, I have a 15.3k installment for everyone! I hope you enjoy :) As usual, a glossary is at the bottom. Oh! And **this chapter is super NSFW. If you want to skip all of it, start reading at the place where everyone is having supper together**.

Through the haze of sleep, awareness tugs at the edges of Castiel's consciousness. He stirs in bed, frowning at as he buries his face into the back of Dean's neck. The fact that he can feel his _melethron_ pressed up against him, warm and gloriously naked, gives Cas cause to smile. He ignores the outside world in favour of putting his lips to freckled skin, and cuddles into his One more thoroughly. Maybe if he’s completely cocooned, the outside world will cease to exist.

But it seems that Rivendell's hum of morning activity is set on dragging them both from bed.

Dean groans and turns in Castiel’s arms, causing the elf to glare at the goings on beyond his door. Blissful as he currently feels—and as much as he adores his home, it is wholly unacceptable for its sounds and smells to have woken he and his mate. The annoyance can’t last, however; not when Cas turns back to find Dean’s green eyes blinking open and a sleepy smile at the corner of his mouth.

"Morning," the human sighs, moving to wrap a stray lock of dark hair around his finger. He lets it fall off to the side, shifting until their tangled legs sit more comfortably together and their hips are flush. Dean is hard where Castiel isn't yet, but he seems to be in no hurry to take care of himself; his groan of pleasure switched for hum of contentment at the contact. "You sleep okay?" he mumbles, fingertips lazily brushing across Cas’s cheekbone.

Castiel's chest is bursting with warmth that climbs all the way to his cheeks. It almost feels wrong to speak during such a lovely moment, but there are words pushing at his lips, begging to be set free. Sliding a hand from under the covers, Cas bites his lip to keep himself quiet just a moment longer; just so he can trace the bridge of Dean's nose and the freckles bathed in morning light there; so he can bask in the overwhelming beauty of his _melethron_ 's green eyes and the way _Imlad_ 's thumb traces the skin of Castiel's own hip. "Perhaps," Cas finally begins, tone brooking no argument. "It is the best sleep I have ever had."

A smile blooms across Dean's face, his cheeks tinted pink as he presses a soft, sweet kiss to Castiel's lips. "Me too," he grins. When he pulls away, the smile is ever-present, and they lay there a while, grinning like fools and touching—chaste, unhurried—before kissing again. And again. And again. Dean kisses as if sampling him; like he wants to taste every inch of Castiel's mouth, and categorize each of press of lips.

With every passing second, they begin shifting together; their hips rubbing and cocks pressing in a dull pleasure that slowly and subconsciously leads them in a lazy rut.

By the time Dean casually slides his hand over Castiel's waist, palm open to rest on the swell of his backside, they've settled into an indolent rhythm. Cas slowly drapes an arm around his _Imlad_ ’s waist and rests against the sleepy softness of him. It's effortless, the way they move together, and the elf wonders at the way this contact feels so very different from the way they touched hours ago.

This contact is completely without thought; Castiel’s blue eyes open and staring at his partner in a muted sort of awe… not because Cas thinks Dean magnificent—though admittedly, bathed in soft morning light, naked and humming low in easy pleasure, he’s a god—but because there is a pleasant haziness to their actions. As if their limbs are still too tempted by the idea of sleep to let go of it entirely.

Touching their foreheads together, _Imlad_ sucks his own bottom lip between his teeth and bites down. His eyes are shut and his hands move slowly across Castiel's darker skin, causing the elf to exhale a sigh against his mouth. Their kisses have long since turned to the occasional lush, indulgent thing between quiet, contented noises, and Cas decides that while every sound that falls from Dean's lips is like another movement of the sweetest song, tasting those noises would be perhaps even better than hearing them.

His hand moves to tangle in light hair as Castiel slots their mouths together, swallowing _Imlad_ 's surprised hum with a smile.

Dean's breathing becomes more ragged as they progress this way, though the human makes no motion to roll his hips in a more urgent manner. In fact, their movements sharpen with intent at such a negligible rate that Castiel is caught off-guard by his orgasm.

But this could also be because he's too busy watching his human work through his own.

Dean’s lips are parted in a silent moan, his nose scrunching and brows pinched together as his toes curl into the warm skin of Castiel’s calves. Back arched and head thrown back, _Imlad’_ s nails bite into Castiel’s shoulderblades as the elf marvels over the pretty flush of freckled skin.

His own pleasure, therefore, knocks him off his metaphorical feet.

Castiel's world whites out in a flurry of sharp sensation before he crashes spectacularly, holding tight to Dean as the other buries his face in Cas's neck. It's incredible, the elf thinks, that something so lazy and sweet can turn into something so unbelievably, overwhelmingly, _wildly_ intense. He feels strong enough to move mountains in the moments before his body turns to lead, too exhausted to do anything but tangle with Dean and hold him fast. It takes a good while, but Castiel eventually regains the appropriate motor functions to shakily run his fingers through the strands of his One’s lighter hair.

“Mmm,” Dean hums in response, mouthing at the skin of Cas’s neck. “We should stay in bed all day.”

Castiel’s laugh is breathy but full, his lips pulled into a wide, gummy smile as he tips Dean’s face up to kiss him. “I concur.” He nips at a full, kiss-swollen bottom lip. “Though, we should probably consider a bath at some point in time.”

 _Imlad_ 's groan reverberates through Castiel's entire body. "But that'll mean getting _out of bed_."

"Yes, that does pose a problem with regards to the original plan," Cas teases. He receives a pinch to his backside for his trouble, hips jolting forward in response. Both parties make their own noises of contentment at the sudden pressure against their sexes.

"Would a shared bath be enough to convince you of a change in itinerary?" Cas asks with a smile, thumbing gently at Dean's jaw as the man in question looks up with a smirk.

"Shared bath?" he asks, leaning in for a kiss. "Like... both of us naked," teeth nip at Castiel's lips, "and touching," a nip to his neck, "and _wet_?" Dean scrapes his mouth across the skin of Cas's collarbone, his left hand moving up to thumb dusky bud of the other's nipple.

Castiel all but swallows his tongue. His cock, soft and damp with come and sweat from their last tryst, is nowhere near ready for another, but the rest of the elf's body seems to have the opposite idea. "Yes," he says, breathless. "Just like that."

Cas isn’t sure if he’s agreeing to the description of their bath, or encouraging Dean to keep touching him.

Dean smirks. "I could be persuaded." He changes moods abruptly then, leaving Cas grasping at threads of control and coherency as their mouths press together sweetly. Pulling back only to thumb at Cas’s bottom lip with utmost affection, _Imlad_ moves back to cuddle into his elf’s chest. “Food’d also be good.”

As to punctuate that sentiment, Cas’s stomach gurgles. He blushes hotly at the noise, biting his lip when Dean laughs. Grinning, _Imlad_ slides down his body to press a kiss right below his belly button, like he’s trying to soothe whatever discomfort Castiel may or may not be feeling. From there, he kisses and licks at Cas’s hips in a completely unhurried and gentle way, the elf twirling pieces of light hair between his fingers as he does. Eventually, their movements taper off into more cuddling and absent touching.

They stumble from bed not long after.

But instead of continuing with their laziness, there’s something about the cool marble of the floor that throws everything into sharp focus. Suddenly, Cas is hyperaware of the unforgiving morning light and how it must put his body on display: his no doubt tangled hair and the kiss-swollen bow of his lips, his groin splattered with drying come… he must look a mess. And that’s not even considering the things he doesn’t like about his _own_ body. Things like the way birth marks mar his skin too sparse and dark to be freckles, but not sparse enough to be ignored; the dark thatch of hair between his legs that is coarse and thick and unlike the smooth skin he’s seen in elvish anatomy textbooks… the stretchmarks that are only highlighted by the sun-warmed tone of his flesh.

Though Dean claimed they were both abnormal elves last night, Castiel is under no illusions that he’s particularly beautiful; not as the odd human-elf hybrid he appears to be. Certainly, he’s not ugly to look upon, but his chapped mouth and ethereally bright blue eyes do not hold a candle to plushness of Dean’s lips and the warmth of his own irises.  Certainly, up until now, Castiel had been convinced that any and all romantic interest in him had been due to either his social standing, skill in strategy or rank as a warrior. Not for his looks.

Which is upsetting, because this sudden lack of confidence in his appearance has Cas unsettled, and a much as he wants to look upon his One, he feels far too exposed and uncomfortable to do so. It was different when they were in bed and kissing and touching; pleasure, no matter whose, was a glorious distraction.

But there is nothing to distract them, now.

The elf clears his throat and taps his toes in an effort to alleviate some of the awkwardness he feels, wrapping his arms across his own stomach in a pointless attempt to cover himself. His movements are so uncoordinated and disjointed, Cas is halfway convinced he’s once again pubescent: a gangly tangle of sharp elbows and knobby knees. Uncertain if this embarrassment is residual conservatism from his upbringing (because even a mated pair would not deign to look upon each other’s bare bodies in such a way), or something else, Castiel decides he hates it. Biting his lip, he flushes and looks away.

Dean steps forward and kisses him.

The action is clumsy and barely there, more of a peck than a real kiss, but it does its job of putting Cas at ease. If nothing else, the tremble of Dean's fingers against his forearms is enough to inform the elf that he is not alone in feeling awkward and nervous and shy, in being embarrassed. It's a comfort to know his One is treading lightly here, with him. That he's allowing and understanding of this particular moment of weakness.

Even still, a kiss is exactly what Cas needs. He follows his _melethron_ ’s mouth until their lips press together again, long fingers digging into his own waist as he breathes out, relieved. Dean smiles. “I'm still not sure this isn't a dream, y'know?” he whispers, pulling away. Castiel's heart skips a beat when _Imlad_ pushes his hair away from his shoulders and face. “I can't even—I mean—" Dean's thumb presses lightly into the shallow cleft of his chin. " _Eru_ , Cas, you’re so…” Shaky fingers move to tuck brown hair behind pointed ears, their calloused pads tracing down shoulder and bicep until they carefully untangle Castiel’s arms from his person. Slotting their hands together, Dean looks down at their entwined fingers with a blush.

Cas swallows thickly at that, his words and breath caught in his throat as he leans in to express himself in the only other way he knows how. Their fingers squeeze together and Castiel takes half a step forward as they kiss, their mouths moving in slow, languid motions.

It’s addictive; the way Dean’s tongue laves over Cas’s bottom lip, and Castiel is wholly content to stand there, kissing him, until his legs collapse or they whither away to nothing.

Of course, no sooner does he think that, that Dean's stomach growl spectacularly.

He doesn't seem embarrassed by it, however; if the way he wraps his arms around Cas is any clue. Nor does he seem particularly concerned. In fact, it's Castiel who ultimately pulls away, murmuring some half-hearted thought about breaking their fast. Not that that does any good in terms of getting them to start the day:

Dean guides their mouths back together the moment they part.

Castiel brings his hands up to cup his human's cheeks, the beginnings of stubble rasping against his palms as _Imlad'_ s stomach growls yet again. “You're hungry,” the elf says more firmly, as if stating that simple fact will cause his lover to see reason. He pulls away and shakes his head when Dean attempts to follow. "We should eat something."

 _Imlad_ 's lips smirk against the pads of Castiel's fingers, brow raising mischievously. Deliberately, his tongue pokes out to give Cas's digits a slow, meaningful lick. “No harm in working up more of an appetite,” he murmurs. “’Sides, if I'm really that starving, I can eat _you._ ”

Castiel's cheeks flare at the thought, hand dropping to his side in surprise. To his knowledge, elves do not even taste their _meleth_ ’s sexual emissions, let alone imply to make a meal of them. Not that Cas finds the idea repulsive: a lofty goal, yes, and most likely biologically impossible in terms of semen production… but not an unpleasant sentiment. Dean, grinning, seizes the opportunity presented to him and surges forward to capture Cas's lips in a hungry, nibbling kiss. Upon pulling away, he nudges their noses together. “You taste _so much better_ than fruit.”

Castiel, wholly and completely distracted by Dean’s nearness, speaks without thought: “Unfortunately,” he breathes. “I am not nearly as nutritious.”

It’s a weak rebuff and both know it, _Imlad_ grinning into their shared space as Cas tries to get a grip on his mental faculties. He only just has the presence of mind to turn as Dean leans in to kiss him, soft lips pressing to his cheek rather than his mouth.

Dean groans.

Castiel makes quick work of striding towards his wardrobe and slipping on a silk robe, the tips of his ears turn red and his lips tug up in a smile.

The expression only widens when arms wrap around his middle.

Cas is pulled to his One’s chest just as he manages to tie the garment shut, fingers moving to play across mortal forearms as he leans back. _Imlad_ makes a show of nuzzling and kissing at Castiel’s neck.

“Dean,” Cas huffs, laughing as he relaxes against the other’s chest. It’s as easy as breathing.

“What?” The word is whispered into Cas’s skin, fingers toying with the bow that keeps the elf’s robe shut. Castiel can feel him smiling. “I’m doing the world a favour… You’re too nice-looking to be all covered up.”

The sentence is punctuated with a sharp tug, silk falling open as Dean slides his palm down to cup the Cas’s sex. The elf bites his lip. Head rolling to expose his neck, he inhales sharply when Dean’s mouth sucks at his skin in time with a slow, slightly pressured slide of his hand. “And if you faint in the middle of the proceedings, what then?” Castiel asks. He is honestly no longer certain what and why he’s protesting.

“Then you'll have to kiss me awake. ”

“That's not funny.”

“No? Then why're you smiling?”

Cas thinks on it for a moment before answering. “Because I'm happy. Isn't that what people do when they are?”

“Y-Yeah,” Dean breathes. “If I had to guess.”

The feeling that explodes in Castiel’s chest is unlike anything he’s ever experienced, even considering the events of last night and this morning. It’s all he can do to turn and press the most tender of kisses to his One’s sweet mouth, thumbing gently at his cheeks. “Wait _here_ ,” he commands gently.

Dean seems to be altogether too dazed to reply.

The door seems a world away as Cas forces himself away from his Lifepartner; the wood impossibly heavy as he pulls it open. At the very last moment, he remembers his robe is open and quickly ties it shut once more. Blood turns his cheeks a blotchy mess of pink and darker red.

It’s surprisingly exciting to know he’s bare underneath this thin garment—doubly so when he considers that fact that Dean’s come has long-since dried on his person. If anyone were to know, Castiel would no doubt be in a world of trouble, but instead of causing him to feel panic, the mere knowledge of this secret has... stimulated him. The danger of it is arousing.

Cas is even more pleased when he sees Leliel and Balthazar outside his door. Though he’s certain he could have handled two of Michael’s guards, Castiel has known these two elves his entire life.

They’re both his elders, certainly, but between sparring and hunting together, he’s always considered them to be his friends. Especially Balthazar. While Leliel is often distant, the latter elf has consistently looked out for him, and (for the most part) approves of Dean. Any reservations he has about the human he mostly keeps to himself, though he has no qualms against teasing Cas mercilessly about him.

“Pleasant sleep, my lord?”

As Balthazar gives a lecherous smirk to the hallway, Castiel feels his stomach drop. His cheeks explode in colour that seeps all the way down his chest. He clears his throat delicately, nodding as his hands fist in the silk of his robe. Cas is confused for only a split second, tumbling into the realization that he and Dean had not exactly been quiet in their love-making with a choked off, mortified noise. Leliel grins on the Lordling’s other side.

“Balthazar,” Cas blushes, looking down at his toes. “I was wondering if perhaps I could request water for my bath—”

“Of course,” the other replies in accented Westron. “I’ll send word.”

“ _Le channon_.” Of all things, Castiel bows, too incredibly flustered to think of how doing so is unbefitting for one of his standing. The elf is far too relieved at his guards’ discretion to do anything less. In point of fact, he keeps his eyes low as a sign of respect, stepping back into his rooms while he does. Cas completely misses the look of disbelief that crosses Balthazar’s face.

“…Castiel?”

In time with the raise of Cas’s blue eyes, he feels a large, warm slide up the back of his thigh. “ _Na_?” the elf yelps, shutting the door on himself in an act so abrupt, his entire body smarts. He feels the warm breath of a chuckle against his back and bites his lip.

Both Balthazar and Leliel look at him oddly.

“Y-Yes?” Castiel repeats. Despite nodding to try and appear casual, he can hear the strangled, high-pitched quality of his voice.

This is probably due to the fact that Dean’s head is beneath his silk robe, and he’s currently sucking a mark into his backside.

“Your brother sent sustenance to break your fast,” Balthazar says slowly. His head cocks to the side, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Are you quite alright?”

“ _O-Oh_ —yes!” Cas exclaims quickly, forcing himself to keep his eyes open. His teeth close over his bottom lip as Dean runs a finger between his legs and toward his sex. “Yes, I’m—” A deep exhale. “ _Fine,_ yes. Just fine.” In a desperate attempt to distract himself, he looks at the breakfast platter on the nearby table. Dean nips at his tailbone. Castiel’s eyes almost roll back in his head. “That’s… that’s quite a lot, isn’t it? For just one person.”

Cas squeezes the door against himself so hard, he’s sure he’ll bruise.

Leliel shrugs, more concerned with Castiel’s odd behaviour, while Balthazar, clearly on the brink of understanding exactly what is happening on the other side of the door, grins wickedly. “Sir Gabriel understands the importance of food for an… active young elf such as yourself,” the latter says sweetly.

Dean’s tongue slides into the cleft of Castiel’s ass.

Castiel’s knees almost buckle from under him.

He swallows a moan, nodding sharply at Balthazar for reasons unknown as he reaches out a single hand for the heavy tray. “I’ll just—I’ll take it now!”

Slick, warm wetness outlines the rim of Cas’s hole, and the elf is convinced he is going to die of a heart attack. His toes curl and cheeks flare spectacularly, Castiel’s entire body slumping against the door as a groan rumbles deep in his throat. He’s too preoccupied to notice how scandalized even Balthazar is, and Leliel barely has time to get the platter herself before he’s snatching it out of her hands, stuttering an apology and stumbling back into his rooms.

If either guard catches a glimpse of Dean Winchester’s bare form, neither acknowledges it.

Nor do they acknowledge the sheer amount of _noise_ the pair make.

Castiel slides the breakfast platter onto the nearest free surface, ignoring the fruit that rolls onto the floor due to his carelessness. At the moment, he couldn’t be less interested in food if he tried; not when Dean has scrambled to his feet and is smirking like some proud, self-satisfied nymph.

He’ll have to be punished for that.

“ _You_ ,” Cas growls, stepping forward.

Dean’s expression wavers on the edge of something more playfully cautious. His hands come up as if to calm Castiel down, but the elf merely raises a brow, unimpressed. He is beyond calm. He will pleasure Dean so thoroughly, they'll hear his moans in Minas Tirith.

“Cas…” Dean murmurs, keeping his voice soft and low. Even still, there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Cas, let’s talk about this…”

Castiel begins to advance.

“Cas… Ca—AH!”

The elf plucks Dean off the ground as if he's weightless, the human's legs immediately coming to wrap around his waist. One of Cas's hands splays on the smoothness of _Imlad_ 's back, the other reaching up to tangle in light hair, roughly pulling to make their lips meet. It takes a handful of stumbled steps for Castiel to properly gain his balance, but he soon has Dean pressed up against the wall beside the bathroom; freckled fingers twisting in his dark hair as the elf all but devours his One's mouth.

Though clearly overwhelmed, it’s plain that _Imlad_ attempts to take charge of the proceedings; rolling his hips as best he can in the limited space provided to him and licking obscenely at Cas’s mouth. His efforts are admirable, but Castiel is on a self-appointed mission, and he does not plan to fail. Stepping back from the wall, the elf pulls away from their kiss, nipping at Dean's bottom lip as he does. His _meleth_ ’s protest turns to a strangled moan when Cas moves to suck on his own finger.

It's not something Castiel would have thought erotic, but there must be something to the way his finger slides in and out of the tight hole his lips make; Dean flushes brightly in response. Which requires further exploration at a later date, Cas thinks absently, as he gets the pad of his index finger as wet as he possibly can. He’d tried this on himself once, curious and saturated with arousal after one of his baths. Perhaps it’s different with humans, but for Castiel… the need to touch himself, especially there, had been intense and overwhelming. The pleasure he’d derived from even that small exploration had buried whatever shame he’d felt at the act itself. Nothing that good could be wrong.

In actuality, _Imlad_ appears to have swallowed his own voice when Cas reaches back with the saliva-slick digit to lightly trace his hole.

Dean's mouth opens in a silent moan, back arching and fingers digging into the skin of Castiel's silk-clad back as the elf teases him. He valiantly attempts to push his hips back and take the digit inside himself, but Cas moves away, licking its pad again before going back once more. Dean catches Castiel in a sloppy, desperate kiss as the elf attempts to move them into the bathroom.

It’s easier said than done, but after a few moments of stumbling into doorjambs and walls, Cas has Dean seated on the bathroom countertop and is sucking dark, possessive marks into the flesh of his neck.

He can feel the way Dean’s blunt nails scratch and grasp at the silk of his robe, pulling and pushing until finally— _finally_ , the material slides off his shoulders. Of course, it gathers in the bend of Cas’s elbows, but the elf doesn't mind; he’s far too busy feeling the blissful drag of bare fingers against his skin for that.

With a nip to Dean’s pulse point, Castiel travels downward, hands stroking— _up and down up and down_ —the sparsely haired flesh of freckled thighs. He nibbles at Dean's collarbone and licks down his sternum, paying special attention to the raised, pink buds of his nipples. Cas sucks and bites until his partner is all but begging for release, and then presses his tongue flat against the abused flesh and licks.

His knees smart as they hit the ground.

Castiel makes his way to Dean’s belly next, sucking love bites into his skin and loving on the softness at his navel. The entire world has sharpened to a singular point: whole vistas reduced to the freckled landscape of human flesh; entire landscapes whittled away to the topography of Dean’s hips. Cas tastes the countryside on his thighs and mountain streams between his legs; every new kiss bringing forth oceans and hillsides, fields and forests and desert plains of flavour.

His _Imlad_ is the entire world, and Castiel wants to explore every part of it.

He wants to drink Dean’s rivers and bask on his beaches. He wants to be shielded in whatever caverns he possess, large and small enough to fill up all the spaces inside him with strength and protection, and be written into every fiber of his being. He wants… _everything_.

He wants everything.

Of its own accord, one of Cas’s hands slides between his own legs, tugging himself toward completion as he works ardently for Dean’s pleasure. The human has his eyes shut tight and body arched, hands tangled almost painfully in dark hair as his toes curl into the half-bared skin of Castiel’s back. He’s gorgeous; the epitome of wild and unrestrained beauty, and Castiel would kiss him if doing so would not ruin the perfect, glorious shape of his parted lips. How in the world could anybody dare to call this base?

This is perfection made flesh. He is…

“ _Cas!_ ”

Castiel works himself more quickly, delivering small licks and kisses all the way to the tip of his _Imlad_ ’s cock. Taking him between his lips, then, the human is given no warning before Cas swallows down the silky flesh as far as he’s able, sucking enthusiastically.

“ _Cas, I—Cas! Mm, CasCasCasCa-aa—_!”

Dean comes with a moan loud enough to reach even the furthest corners of _Imladris_.

He spills into Castiel’s mouth as his entire body locks up in pleasure, panting around his vocalizations. Dean doesn’t taste bad by any means; salty, maybe, and slightly bitter, but there is also a sweetness to him. Perhaps it’s not the most pleasing of tastes, but the meaning of the act is worth any slight unpleasantness. Cas barely has time to swallow before he’s reaching release himself.

He comes with the weight of his feelings stuck in his throat, unable to speak or moan or cry out. Grasping at Dean’s backside, the elf buries his face in the skin of Dean’s right hip, breathing raggedly against the lightly freckled flesh. He can feel the bare remnants of his One’s release against his shoulder and forces himself to move. Despite his exhaustion, curiosity outweighs all else.

Dean’s eyes are open now; slits of green reflecting deep contentment before widening into wide, wonder-filled circles. “Cas, you don’t hafta—”

Castiel licks him clean, anyway.

It’s beyond worthwhile to hear the skip of Dean’s breath and see him slump against the wall, eyes rolling back in his head. _Imlad_ ’s grip loosens on his hair and he pets the dark strands affectionately, sighing at Cas’s gentle treatment of him. He looks well and truly satisfied.

Castiel is incredibly proud.

The elf lets himself rest against Dean’s thigh, though his head is pillowed there for only a moment before his _Imlad_ begins to pull at him. It feels like the hardest thing he’s ever done, but eventually, Cas manages to climbs onto the countertop. His limbs are molasses, and though it’s slow, he’s soon cradled in Dean’s arms; the pair cuddled and entangled as _Imlad_ once again pushes his fingers through dark hair.

And then there’s the kissing.

Sloppy and sweet, it’s more suited to the dead of night than mid-morning, and is almost painful in its loveliness. Castiel is quickly learning that no two kisses of Dean’s are ever the same, and despite his exhaustion, hums at the contact and presses wholeheartedly into it, all but collapsing against the other man.

Cas isn’t certain of how long they stay there, but he’s disappointed when it eventually ends. Not that Dean’s smile is anything to spit at; the human is grinning so widely, Castiel fears his face might split in two.

“That was _awesome_ ,” _Imlad_ murmurs. He gently rests their foreheads together, leaning in to nudge their noses in an almost criminally adorable display of affection. The fact that Dean’s cheeks are red enough to drown out the entirety of his freckles is a good enough reason, Cas decides, to brush his fingertips along his heated skin; though it does nothing to settle the bursting warmth in his chest.

In response, Dean leans in for another kiss, sighing into the contact as his hands move to gently thumb at his elf’s jaw. Castiel’s spit-slicked lips pull up in a large smile. “You’re…” the human trails off as if unable to put the sheer size of what he’s trying to say into words. “And I mean, I—I can’t move, or think, or—” It takes Cas a moment to realize that the huffed sound that tumbles from Dean’s is what currently passes as a giggle for him. “I think you sucked my brain out through my cock.”

The sheer ridiculousness of the statement causes Castiel to snort, blue eyes rolling to keep up some sort of collected front while pride and embarrassment collide in the elf’s chest. It’s immensely satisfying that he managed to give his Bondmate so much pleasure, but _Imlad_ ’s words still paint Cas’s cheeks a light pink. Despite wanting everything with Dean, there is a part of Castiel that is beyond hesitant—not for any other reason than some miniscule part of himself hisses at how low he’s sunk to enjoy such a dirty act. Because Cas did enjoy it. He enjoyed it a lot. So much, in fact, that he’d get down on his aching knees this minute and do it again if Dean so wished. Which makes him feel… unclean, in some odd abstract way. But wonderful, too. Cas shrugs in an effort to distract from his now small, wilting grin, and _Imlad_ picks up on the change instantly.

Within seconds, he’s bringing Castiel in for yet another kiss; resting their foreheads together upon pulling back and ensuring they’re partaking in solid eye-contact before he speaks: “You,” he whispers, slow and meaningful and gorgeously flushed. “Are incredible.”

Fingers trail along Cas’s left cheekbone and the elf holds his breath. His eyes are wide.

“I’m serious,” Dean breathes. While one hand cups his face, the other moves down to press against his chest. “You need anything? I was so focused on myself—”

Completely overwhelmed, Cas chews his lip with another shrug. Truth be told, he has everything he’s ever wanted… but there is one thing, perhaps, that could make this moment better. “Kiss me again?” he whispers.

“Every day for the rest of my life.”

It’s an unbelievably romantic reply, and Castiel feels himself melt in its wake. He swaddles himself in the warmth of those words and presses all his love into the controlled slowness of their kisses. When Dean pulls away, it’s only to rest his forehead against Cas’s, green eyes locked with blue. “ _Eru_ , Cas, next time I’ll make you feel like I feel. I promise.”

A smile. “It’s already done, _mel hûn_.”

And it really, truly is.

 

~ * ~

 

“I should get the water.”

Castiel isn’t certain how long they’ve been curled up on the countertop, but his limbs are beginning to ache. Groaning at the stiffness in his back, he shifts around enough to make Dean grunt, the human snuffling a breath against his elf’s temple.

“I’m gonna fall asleep,” the human mumbles, making himself more comfortable. He speaks into Cas's shoulder.

They need to bathe. They need to move their cuddling to a warm bath and wash themselves; if not to rid their bodies of the smell of sex and sweat, then to ensure they don't catch ill from being nude on a cold surface. They should also probably eat at some point. Groggily turning his head, Cas gives Dean a quick peck and clambers to the floor. He scowls at the cold against the bottom of his feet. “I’ll be right back.”

A green eye cracks open, Dean's body slumping back towards the wall as a dopey smile steals across his lips. His voice is warm and playful: “I pray for your swift return.”

“The road is long and fraught with danger,” Castiel sighs impishly in response. “Perhaps you should give me a token for good luck.”

Dean hums in thought, sitting up and extending his legs to wrap around the Cas’s slim hips. Pulling him nearer, the human guides them into a soft, sweet kiss. “Godspeed, my love,” he teases, overdramatically and like some lovesick, pining idiot.

Castiel rolls his eyes despite the elated pounding of his heart, blood rushing to his cheeks to flush them a pleased pink. He forces himself not to betray the way the reply has raced through his body like lightening. _My love_.

Cas practically floats towards the door, stopping only when Dean bashfully calls for him to do so. The elf willingly lets himself be coaxed back to the counter and pulled into another kiss, his One’s fingers tying up his robe. Dean clears his throat, flicking the tip of Castiel’s ear as if to ground himself. “So, uh, hurry back, elf boy.” His punctuating smirk slowly shakes into a genuine, soft smile, which Cas promptly kisses.

“I will.”

The walk to his bedroom door is uneventful and dull.

Not even Balthazar comments on his lateness with the water, instead informing him he had the buckets switched for two warmer ones. There’s no fanfare with the statement; no salacious comment or smirk… only a small smile tugging up the corner of his mouth. It’s a knowing smile. One that speaks to the fact that he knows exactly why Castiel is late in retrieving the water for his bath. It’s almost worse.

Cas quickly takes the buckets and leaves.

Pouring them into the tub is quick with Dean’s help, and soon both men are staring at the clawfooted basin, each waiting for the other to move. It’s finally Castiel who sheds his robe and gingerly steps in, dunking his head under the blissfully warm liquid before looking up at his partner, expectant.

 _Imlad_ grins.

 

~ * ~

 

Dean's shoulders are crusted with a galaxy of water-bead diamonds; his chest painted with rivulets that map a tangle of delicate veins across his chest. His cheeks are dotted with magnifying droplets, and wet stars cling onto his eyelashes, coaxing the green below to shine just as brightly.

There is something about him; something under his flesh and bone that settles as a faint crown of firelight and sunbeams around his sudsy hair. Something pure. Lovely. Breathtaking and kind and good.

Something quietly divine.

With a sense of disbelief, Castiel reaches out to thumb a freckled cheek, smearing diamonds across his flesh. _Eru_ , but he's magnificent...

"What?"

Cas blinks, blue eyes dragging down to his One's exposed neck and back up again. "I... what?" he asks, confused and distracted. He hadn't said anything.

Dean's brow raises in time with the quirk of his lips. "You're staring, _Bainon_ ," he teases amidst a yawn. "What, do I have soap on my face?"

Oh. Blushing faintly at the term of endearment, Castiel shakes his head in minute motions, burying his fingers in soaped hair and bringing their foreheads together. "No," he says quietly, as if beginning a confession. "I merely... I was overwhelmed for a moment."

Immediately, Dean's entire demeanor sobers. Water licks at the lip of the basin as the human twists completely from where they'd been sitting back-to-front, their bodies readjusting uncomfortably until Dean is kneeling between Cas's legs, the latter's thighs splayed out on either side of him.  _Imlad_ obsessively searches Castiel's eyes with hands pressed against the elf's cheeks, light brows furrowing in concern. "By what? Are you okay?"

"Yes," Cas breathes, touched by his concern. "I'm fine, I promise. You simply... you overwhelmed me, is all."

Dean's face falls.

"Not like that," Castiel assures. "In the good way. The way in which my chest feels too small for my heart."

Dean blushes furiously, eyes immediately lowering to the water. Cas bites his lip. "Come off your knees?" he asks. "They'll ache like that."

Green eyes look up quickly, Imlad's own hands drifting to Castiel's submerged knees. Pressing his palms flat to the skin, he massages them with a shrug. "You were kneeling for way longer, before."

Blushing furiously, blue eyes leave Dean’s face in favour of staring at the lip of the basin. “That was different,” he replies softly.

Though Cas doesn’t see his Imlad’s smile, he can hear it when he speaks: "Really?" Dean asks, pressing the elf’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and gently guiding his face up. “‘Cause I don’t think so.”

Heart beating wildly against his ribcage, Castiel tilts his head and parts his lips. His eyes slip almost shut as Dean draws nearer, the human so close his breath is warm on Cas’s skin. He’ll kiss him, Castiel is certain of it. Just…

Dean’s hands bury enthusiastically in Cas’s hair.

Startled and slightly bewildered at the sudden change of pace, Castiel's brows meet in a puzzled frown, his hands clamping onto Dean's hips to anchor himself. "Um..."

It appears that his One is washing his hair.

Dean hums, pressing a sloppy, warm kiss to Cas's lips before pulling away to focus on his task. “Wasn’t expecting that, were you?” he says gleefully, pecking the tip of Cas’s wet nose for good measure. Freckled cheeks colour slightly at the indulgent cuteness of the gesture before raising a damp brow. “C’mon, the water's getting cold. Do my arms.”

Castiel grabs the soap.

 

~ * ~

 

Bathing together is perhaps the most fun Cas has ever had tending to personal hygiene. Despite one minor incident where soap gets into Castiel's eye, the elf revels in the feeling of Dean's fingers massaging his scalp and playfully squeezing his ass, both men giggly and smiling as water splashes over the side of the basin and they try, in vain, to remain serious. 

It's oddly comfortable, Cas finds, to be naked together. Dean walks his fingers up Castiel's shoulder and presses lips to his kneecap, raking blunt fingernails up the back of the elf's thigh. Cas, of his part, spends his time tracing imagined constellations across his _Imlad_ 's flesh and ratifies each new cluster with a kiss. 

They wash in between their toes and between their legs, pushing at each other and laughing and breathing, heavy and sweet and mouth-to-mouth. Accidental friction sparks fire that shoots straight to their individual hearts, warming their skin in the cool water but unwilling to take things further. 

"Waitwait..."

It's Dean who eventually puts a stop to their aquatic activities, citing the filthiness of the water as an argument to move to the bedroom. He stumbles out of the bath and grabs a towel, raising a brow at Castiel as the elf rests his cheek on the side of the basin to enjoy the show. Catching on quickly, Dean blushes and rolls his eyes. 

"Don't you have somewhere better to look?" the human teases. He slings his towel over Castiel's dark hair and rubs almost violently, effectively blinding him. The elf yelps.

Most definitely, this is best bath he's ever had.

They chase each other into bed once the threat of dripping and slipping on the floor has been taken care of, immediately burrowing under the blankets to keep warm. 

They do eat at some point; bringing the tray into bed and sucking pieces of fruit and hard cheese from the other's fingertips. Amidst whispered words, Dean regales Cas with tales of his brother; how much he's grown, how brilliant he is, how strong and wise and kind, and how Michael will have no choice but to accept him. 

Though his pride is lovely, the last causes a knot to form in Castiel's chest. As he frowns, _Imlad_ 's voice turns to an indistinguishable hum of noise.

Carefully, the elf reaches up. He presses the pad of his thumb to the dip below Dean's bottom lip. 

"Cas…?"

"You know that I accept you, don't you?" 

The human smiles, slightly embarrassed. "Um, yeah," he murmurs, sliding a palm to meaningfully cup Cas's backside. "I kinda got that impression."

"Good," Castiel continues. "Because you are so wonderful, and so beloved to so many of my kind--"

" _Cas_ —"

"It's true!" the elf insists. "Michael is an oaf—"

"He seems to like Sam just fine—"

"Because I like _you_ ," Cas says. Rearranging himself so he and his One are facing each other on their sides, the elf leans in to gently nudge their noses together. "As soon as Sam was old enough to begin caring for himself—as soon as, through my actions, I made it abundantly clear that I was touching, kissing _you_ , he stopped focusing on both of you and redoubled his efforts toward the perceived problem."

Dean, flushed prettily, rolls his green eyes and looks away. "You do that stuff with Sam, too," he grumbles.

"True," Castiel allows. Gently guiding his Bondmate's face front, he kisses him, lush and languid and grinning as Dean makes to follow when he pulls away. "But have I ever kissed him like that?"

A freckled nose scrunches. "Don't be gross."

Cas grin when his One dives back in immediately after. They kiss some more.

"...Promise me you'll try not to worry about Michael," Castiel murmurs a little while later, back flat on the bed and running fingers through Dean's hair. The human shrugs, re-adjusting against Cas's chest.

"Tall order."

"Dean," the elf sighs, "by now you must know that my brother is a cock at the very best of times—"

A snort.

Against his will, the corner of Castiel's lip tugs up. "What?"

"Say 'cock' again."

"Cock."

Another snort. "Again."

" _Cock_."

A giggle. "Okay one more time."

With a thunderous roll of his baby blues, Castiel roughly pulls Dean so they're eye-level. He spins them almost violently, pressing his Lifepartner into the pillows as one hand shoots to support himself and the other cups between pale, freckled thighs. 

"Cock," he breathes in Dean's ear, nipping at the lobe.

The human exhales shakily before devouring him in a kiss.

And so it goes. 

 

~ * ~

 

"Hey, Cas?"

Dean is sitting against the headboard gloriously nude, legs extended and ankles crossed as one of his hands draws patterns on the expanse of Castiel's bared back. In response to his voice, the elf blearily looks up from where he's hugging his pillow, sheet just covering his posterior.

“Hm?”

“Could I, um…” He trails off, voice turning small and nerve-wracked. Cas’s vision sharpens in concern, the emotion melting into confusion as fingers move to twirl a lock of his hair. “Could I braid it?”

Castiel’s heart stutters and a radiant smile steals across his face. His baby blues stare wide and awed into Dean’s green as he bites his lip in an attempt to curb his grin. The moment he nods, Dean lights up se brightly he resembles the sun.

“Yeah?” the human asks shyly.

“Yeah,” Cas replies, giddy. “But… on one condition.”

Anxiety blows into the room to form a cloud around Dean’s head and heart, tensing his muscles and filling him with rigidity.

“…Only if I can do yours.”

Castiel barely has time to finish his sentence before _Imlad_ surges forward to kiss him. “ _Fuck yes_ you can do mine.” Pressing a chaste, sweet little thing to his forehead, Dean begins to tug at his shoulders. “C’mon, get up.”

Though for all his excitement, it becomes very clear very quickly that the human has no idea what to do with the other’s dark locks now that he has them.

Politely, Cas clears his throat. “Would you like for me—”

“I’m _thinking_ ,” Dean interrupts.

Castiel bites his lip in an attempt to mask his amusement. “Of course; how obtuse of me. Please, continue.”

“I’ll tie your hair in a knot, Cas.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Ha! Don’t tempt me.”

But Dean doesn’t tie his hair in a knot. Instead, the human twists and braids hair into only a few thin locks, pulling them into something more complicated towards the base of his skull. For all his hesitation beforehand, Dean’s fingers are deft and sure, and within a quarter of an hour he’s completed his task, playfully tugging at the ends of loose hair once the braid is tied.

Of course, Castiel moves almost immediately after to get to a mirror.

“No, wait!”

It’s with a squeeze to the elf’s shoulders that Cas sees his One venture towards the table towards the door and pluck a pale yellow bloom from the vase resting there, jumping back on the bed with a grin as he cups Castiel face. In a gesture all too sweet for Cas’s heart to properly process, he weaves the blossom right above the elf’s left ear.

“Done.”

If he wanted to, Castiel could not stop himself from touching the flower, awed. Of course, various blooms are used for various reasons in braids and hairstyles, but this… Cas is keenly aware that this has no special meaning. Dean’s simple action is nothing more than a lovely gift, and Castiel is almost completely overwhelmed by it. After all, gift giving—especially like this—is sacred. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” Dean shrugs, though the colour in his cheeks gives his own pleasure away. Tucking a piece of hair behind his own ear, _Imlad_ clears his throat. “’Sides, it’s not nearly as beautiful as you.”

And for this, Castiel kisses his One senseless.

It’s with love-swollen lips and twin racing hearts that Cas soon pulls away, eager to braid. He quickly clambers around so Dean is face opposite him, burying his fingers in the lighter strands with little thought as beings to finger-comb. As he braids, he is relaxed and giddy.

It reflects in his work.

These braids are thin and relaxed and pretty, the way they weave together gorgeous. The strands at Dean’s temples are twisted and pulled back as well. Altogether, it’s a more simplistic do than Dean’s, though it does have one thing extra.

“…Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“May I braid my own pattern into your hair? I’ll do it underneath.”

It’s a question Cas asks with extreme hesitance, mostly because he knows Dean knows what that would mean. Though wearing someone else’s braid is not necessarily unusual in courting pairs, it is uncommon, and serves to express that whoever wearing the braid is taken. Implicit in Castiel’s question is both a fear of rejection and of the High Lord of Rivendell, but to Castiel’s surprise, Dean does not scorn his advances for that. Instead, the human ducks as if immensely pleased by the inquiry, and nods.

Of course, after Cas has finished, Dean grabs his hair and holds it in a messy bun atop his head, the muscles of his back shifting deliciously as he looks at Castiel through the window of his elbow. “What d’you think?”

“You look radiant.”

 “Careful.” Dean covers his bashfulness with a smirk. “Keep talking like that and I just might kiss you.”

“Then I shall endeavor to speak even more sweetly,” Cas replies, playfully putting on airs. “For one kiss could not possibly sustain me.” Brows meeting in thought, the elf leans forward to nudge their noses together, smiling. “Would poetry suffice, I wonder? If I were to equate your body to the sublime beauty of the mountains or the loveliness of the sea? Or would you kiss me more thoroughly only if I spoke of the incomparable beauty of your soul?”

Dean’s green eyes are wide and bright in his face, his cheeks pinked as he swallows audibly.

Castiel’s baby blues narrow, impish. “These are the questions that plague me, _mel hûn_. Not politics. Not war. This.” Leaning in, the elf places the softest of kisses upon his One’s plush mouth. “… _You_.”

 _Imlad_ never answers Cas’s questions.

They do nothing but indulge in each other, touching and tasting in the gentle microcosm of Castiel bed as the world spins on around them. There is nothing more gorgeous to Cas than the feeling of Dean’s fingers brushing his hair from his shoulders and thumbing at his jaw, and the elf quickly loses himself in the sensation. So lost are they both—so deeply entrenched in one another—that they don’t hear the knocking at the door until it’s become the pounding of a first.

Not that they’re particularly concerned by it, anyway.

“Ignore it,” Dean sighs, fitting his index fingers to the dimples of Castiel’s lower back.

Cas hums. “I mean to.”

Continuing in that manner becomes significantly more difficult when the person outside decides to speak, however.

“CASTIEL I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT YOU’RE UP TO IN THERE AND SO HELP ME—”

Anna.

Dean pauses, tensed, to which Cas smoothes hands over freckled shoulders in order to soothe them. “She talks,” he assures his Bondmate, pressing love to his neck. “She won’t come in… and if she does, I’ll protect you.”

“OPEN THIS DOOR IMMEDIATELY—”

“Yeah?” Dean teases, guiding Castiel’s face upwards. “You’ll keep me safe from your murderous sister?”

“CASTIEL—”

“Of course,” Cas replies. “What kind of warrior would I be if I let those I care for come to harm? Not while I’m around.”

“—ORC-HEADED STUPIDITY! MICHAEL—”

At the mention of the High Elf, both Cas and Dean freeze en route to their next kiss. They immediately fly into motion—Cas slipping on a light sleep shift as he sprints towards the door, heaving the thing open with a flush all the way to the tips of his ears. “Um, yes?” the elf says, business-like. He clears his throat. “I was resting—”

Anna pushes past him.

Of course, the first thing she sees is Dean, scrambling to cover himself atop the mattress. He’s blushing down to his shoulders and Castiel bites his lip. “Resting, my pale elvish _ass_ ,” Anna declares, annoyed and red-faced with embarrassment. “You’ve both sequestered yourselves away in a room that smells of… that _smells_ —” She wrinkles her nose, clearly mortified as she moves to open a window. “—Neither of you are properly dressed, and…” Trailing off, Anna stares at Dean unabashedly, her eyes clearly fixed on his hair before she whirls around to look at Cas. She seems to be caught between hugging them both and punishing them like children. “You…”

Dean immediately undoes his bun, hair tumbling to his shoulders.

“ _Are you_ ** _thick_** _?!_ ” she all but shrieks. “Castiel, if Michael sees that—”

“I let him do it,” Dean interrupts.

“Can you put some clothing on, please?!” Anna shouts, covering her eyes. “We’ll have words regarding _your_ stupidity as soon as I finish with my brother!”

Cas watches his One slip out from under the sheets and make his way towards his robe from last night. Looking at the grand-looking garment, the elf makes a quick decision and intercepts him halfway there. He leads him to his wardrobe. “Borrow something of mine.”

In Castiel’s defense, Dean’s answering smile is so lovely it would have been a crime _not_ to kiss it.

Apparently, Anael doesn’t feel the same way. “I can hear you,” she says loudly, snapping her fingers to get their attention. Her boot-clad foot taps impatiently on the floor and, reluctantly, Castiel forces himself to part with his One, giving a wide grin as Dean smirks. Just for fun, he tosses a sleep shift to Dean and stays close to annoy Anna even further.

And seeing Dean in his clothing, well…

The elf tangles his hands in the loose material of the shift, drawing his _Imlad_ nearer in order to properly whisper in his ear: “You look wonderful in my clothes.”

“Yeah?” Dean breathes back, ducking down to kiss Castiel’s neck. The elf feels a grin start to tease at the edges of the other’s mouth. “Because your shifts look a lot like mine.”

“Yes, but this one is _mine_.”

“Would you both cease flirting?! Immediately,” Anna cries, flushed in embarrassment and clearly at the end of her rope. Eyes still closed, her hands turn to fists. “Just—stop! Dean: are you finally decent?”

Both men sufficiently chastened, the human replies in the affirmative as Cas bites his lip.

“Have you both lost your minds?” she hisses. “This is not a faerie story where you both frolic off into the sunset! You have responsibilities, roles you _both_ need to play—You can’t just disappear off the face of the Earth and assume everything is going to be fine!”

Dean frowns. “Anna, it was one day—”

“And if Michael had slipped from my sight? If he’d come looking for you or my brother, what then? Gabriel and I spent the day ensuring he’d be kept busy—”

“We never asked you to,” Cas interrupts. “What’s more, I thought you’d be happy for us. Or was it just in theory that you had no issue with Dean and I courting?”

“No, that’s not—” Groaning, Anna takes a step back and a deep breath. “I’m expressing myself incorrectly. Of course I’m happy for you both. I’m ecstatic. There are no two people who deserve happiness more than you, and I’m thrilled you’ve found it in each other, truly. I’m simply worried.” Brows furrowed, she turns to her brother. “Castiel, you are a High Elf of _Imladris_ , and perhaps more importantly, a brother of Michael. And Dean.” Anna cups a freckled cheek. “As much as I consider you _honeg_ —and I do, you and your brother both—my eldest sibling does not… and he is Lord of _Imladris_. Together, you need to be worlds more aware of the outside world than you are right now.” A beat. “And I know that this is only the first day, and so of course I never expected you to act in any other manner as you have—it’s normal and wonderful and lovely, and it pains me you can’t have more of it. I simply… I don’t want you to forget that you must be cautious; the both of you. Do you understand?”

Despite nodding like all is well, Castiel feels a lump caught in his throat. Of course he was being careless; of course he completely forgot himself. Of course—

“Castiel, please don’t take my concern to mean that this is a mistake,” Anna interrupts his train of thought. “It’s not. There are just certain obstacles you need to be aware of and deal with accordingly.” She smiles. “ _Naneth_ always told us that something wonderful is worth fighting for, did she not?”

The lump eases slightly, only to disappear in its entirety when Dean threads their fingers together and squeezes. “She did,” Cas breathes.

And that’s that.

“I did come by for some reason other than to berate you,” Anna says a moment later. “Michael has requested we eat supper together tonight, and he’ll no doubt be observing you closely. Gabriel and I have spoken regarding this and thought it would be best for you both to get yourselves ready in your own rooms. Dean, you’ll be telling His Lordship that you spent the day in the woods on my orders, while Castiel, you have been taking inventory in the cellars with Gabriel. Yes?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ll leave you a moment to say your goodbyes— _only_ a moment.”

Cas blushes profusely, almost scandalized as his sister gives a wink. Dean, on the other hand, grins in response. “Thanks, Anna.”

She’s gone with the soft click of the door.

“Please give Sam my regards.”

“I will. Definitely.”

“I’ll see you at supper.”

“See you at supper.”

It’s uncomfortable and odd, how stilted their conversation has become, and Castiel doesn’t like it at all. Chewing his lip, he tries to think of something else to say.

Fortunately, Dean kisses him before he has the chance.

Though probably meant to be quick, Cas holds tight to his One, not ready for him to go just yet. Their touches go from soft and chaste to sloppy and sweet, arms draping around freckled shoulders and hands gripping sharp hips. Castiel is only barely on his toes, but the slight height difference is enough to make Dean smile. “You doin’ okay there?”

Half a kiss. “I’d be better if you’d stop talking.”

“Hey now, if you’re gonna be rude, I’ll leave.”

Cas smirks, dipping to press his mouth to Dean’s pulse point. “You won’t.”

“No, I won’t,” _Imlad_ sighs, moving to expose as much skin as possible.

They do manage to stop themselves before Anna is forced to knock; Cas grabbing an extra robe and throwing it around Dean’s shoulders. Meanwhile, _Imlad_ picks up his clothing and shoes from the floor. “So, I’ll see you later,” the human murmurs as they reach the door.

“At supper,” Cas smiles.

Dean grins. “Yeah, supper.” He leans up against the wood as Castiel opens one of the two slabs, stealing one last press of lips before he slips through. “ _Galu, Bainon_.”

“Bye,” Cas breathes.

Supper cannot come soon enough.

 

~ * ~

 

It is the most uncomfortable meal Castiel has ever partaken in.

“I’ll be trying to control the length these meetings run, of course…”

They are, all six of them, seated around the modestly sized rectangular able in Michael’s solar, with His Lordship at the head and flanked by Dean on his left and Castiel on his right. Gabriel and Anna sit beside the latter two, respectively, with Sam seated at the other end. _Esseru_ ’s face is pinched in an expression of polite discomfort, though his little smile is a valiant attempt to fix that. Cas doesn’t blame him; to sit opposite Michael is a position he would not foist upon even his worst enemy.

“And what of you, Castiel? I feel as if I haven’t seen you at all, as of late. Certainly not today.”

Though, to be seated at his side is not fantastic, either.

“I was occupied,” Cas replies, looking down at his plate. He pushes around a leaf of salad with his fork and glues his eyes to it so as not to glance at Dean. Despite this, he can still sense his One staring at him.

No doubt Michael smiles politely in response. “Of course,” he says good-naturedly. “I only ask because I had wanted your insight regarding a handful of the training strategies for the new elflings, and I couldn’t find you.” As he turns to Dean, Cas’s eyes lift from his own plate, anxiety curling in his stomach. “Come to think of it, you were missing as well _Imlad_. Curious, isn’t it? According to the Night Watch you never entered your room.”

The full brunt of Michael’s stare is on Dean, now, and Castiel is impressed his human does not so much as tense in response; as it is, the elf himself is beginning to feel nauseas.

“Yeah well, you wouldn’t have found him,” Gabriel interjects conversationally. “He’d passed out in a puddle of his own sick in one of the guest rooms.”

Michael appears to be completely disgusted.

Relieved, Cas attempts to school his face into an expression of concern. He carefully keeps an eye on his eldest brother, mentally praising him for such a clever interpolation; Michael is no doubt so disgusted at the human primitiveness of it all, he has failed to observe how well Dean looks.

And he looks very well, Castiel thinks absently. Very fine.

“I suppose we cannot expect such a barbaric species to possess even a modicum of impulse control,” the High Elf murmurs as he delicately dabs a napkin against his lips. “I trust you have cleaned your mess, _Imlad_?”

“ _Na, hir vuin._ ”

Castiel grits his teeth so hard his jaw aches.

Whatever he had been feeling while staring at his One has dropped like a stone in his belly, causing him to feel weighted and sick. Michael speaks to his _mate_ as if to a dog; as if Dean is simple and needs to be led and taught like an infant.

And from there, it only gets worse:

“Come now, _Imlad_ ,” Michael says grandiosely. “I have been reliably informed that it is only _polite_ to speak a person’s native tongue while in their presence. And as you sit here, beside me, it is only proper to speak the Common Tongue.” A sharp smile. “Isn’t that right, Castiel?”

Cas is roughly half a comment away from snapping.

The elf takes a shaky breath to compose himself, hating the way Dean stares resolutely at his plate. He knows why, of course; that looking at each other would no doubt give something away—would put them in danger—but it’s difficult to get a handle on himself when his Lifepartner, the one he’s unofficially chosen, the one his heart _sings_ for, is clearly uncomfortable and embarrassed. Castiel spears his salad as if it has personally offended him.

“Yes _, my Lord_.”

Gabriel and Anna both give him meaningful looks, no doubt a warning. Apparently, Michael shares in this sentiment, because the High Elf frowns and carefully rests his cutlery against his plate. “There is no need for formality, Castiel. You and I are brothers: family—”

Cas slams his fork onto his plate. It chips the glass.

At the end of the table, Sam’s eyes are comically wide to Gabriel’s squeezed shut ones.

“Pardon me, _brother_ ,” Cas seethes, “for my egregious proprietal misstep. Only, I have a difficult time considering you kin when you’re spewing speciesist orc—”

“Alright!” Anna interrupts, cheery. “Perhaps we should change the subject. Sam, how was—”

“Castiel, please, not this again,” Michael sighs. “We’ve spoken—”

“Ignore Cas, Michael,” Gabriel speaks over them all. “He’s just spent the entire day doing inventory with me. You know he hates that. _Cas_ ,” the elder elf says patronizingly. “Apologize to your brother.”

“I—” Castiel is about to tell Gabriel where to shove his tone and apology, he truly is, but as he turns his head to do so, he finally meets Dean gaze. His human does not look proud, or scared, or any more comfortable than before. In fact, he seems less so now: frustrated and incredibly embarrassed… but these emotions are not directed at Michael.

They are directed at Cas.

“I’m sorry, brother,” Castiel forces himself to murmur, bowing his head in the appropriate gesture of shame. Barely placated and obviously suspicious, Michael looks between both Dean and Cas and accepts the apology with a begrudging smile.

“Inventory, Castiel? Were you not tending to poor, sick _Imlad_?” A pause. “He looks remarkably well, after all.”

Unsure if he should keep quiet or reply, Castiel is saved from making the decision when his Lifepartner speaks: “If I may, that was Anael’s doing, _hir vuin_ ,” Dean interrupts. “I was put to work in the forest. It must have been the fresh air that did me good.”

“Indeed…” Michael trails off, face smoothing over in a neutral expression. The moment his ghost of smile slides into place, Cas is wary. “Well, on to more important things, yes? Tell me, _Imlad_ , how was your Name Day?”

At the warm tone and niceties, Dean looks completely caught off-guard. “Ah—good,” he recovers quickly, though his cheeks pink; in response to his fumbling or the actual question, however, Castiel isn’t sure. “Very good, _hir vuin_.”

“Wonderful. I trust my brother took good care of you?”

Now, Dean’s blush cannot be misconstrued. As drawn as Cas is to his One, the equal and opposite must be true as well, for _Imlad_ ’s green eyes meet blue before the human ducks his head, clearing his throat to clearly bite back a smile. “Um, yeah— _yes._ Yes, he, uh, he did.”

“He’s very fond of you, you know,” Michael continues conversationally. Despite his easy tone, his smile is once again sharp. “Our _Cas_. Personally, I could have done without the gaudy wizard fare, but my brother seems to be fascinated by amateur frivolity. You no doubt enjoyed them.”

Dean’s fingers curl around his napkin until they’re both white as snow, the colour in stark contrast to the light flush of his cheeks. “Yes, _hir vuin_.”

“Yes, I thought you would.” The way he turns his head to Castiel is a clear dismissal. “Tell me—”

“What makes wizard fare gaudy?”

The entire table holds its breath, all five sets of eyes swiveling to Sam as the seventeen year-old raises a curious brow. A brussel sprout is speared through his fork, the utensil moving as he gestures in time with his speech: “Of course I mean no disrespect, my lord, but did elven magyck not bear it? Both—”

“Wizards’ magyck is nothing more than cheap parlour tricks, _Esseru_ ; easy displays meant to amaze and astound children. Only those of an inferior intellect—”

“I disagree.”

Castiel is not certain who is currently holding the title of ‘Most Successful Supper Saboteur’, but from the way Michael’s lip curled at being interrupted _again_ , Sam may be pulling ahead.

“If both branches of magyck come from the same place, they are, at their core, the same. Whatever they become is an extension of the original intent, with both branches having the ability to perform some variation of the other. It’s a known fact that elven magyck has been around for a longer period of time, but it was the elves that first presented humanity with the ability to perform spells, making the first wizards. Therefore, as long as a wizard doesn’t use his or her power for, say, necromancy as Sauron and even Lucifer did—”

Cas’s breath hitches at the mention of his eldest brother, the noise buried under the slam of Michael’s fist on the table. Silence stretches on as Sam stares, wide-eyed. “I… Michael, I’m—”

“I would thank you not to interrupt me again, boy.”

The salad course finishes in silence.

 

~ * ~

 

Castiel pushes around the venison on his plate, carelessly sticking a boiled carrot onto the tines and sweeping up gravy with it. He eats dispassionately, chewing in silence and with his eyes fixed firmly downwards. Though Anna seems to be staring at him in concern, Cas knows Dean has not looked his way since the salad course. The thought makes his stomach flip uncomfortably.

He wishes they were still abed.

_“You wanna try some of this?” Dean had asked randomly, holding up a pastry. It had been some sort of miniature peach tart, plucked off the breakfast tray._

_Castiel’s frown had deepened. “Uh, certainly.”_

_But when he’d reached out for it,_ Imlad _had shaken his head minutely. With the action, the human’s confidence had wavered, a blush climbing up his freckled chest and neck as he’d reached forward, flaky pastry brushing Cas’s kiss-chapped lips._

Oh.

_Castiel had opened his mouth and taken a bite._

_Dean’s smile had lit up his entire face. “Good?” he’d ventured._

_Castiel honestly didn’t know; he’d been far too busy looking at the unadulterated joy on Dean’s face to pay attention. He’d nodded, however, in the hopes of seeing his One smile._

_He hadn’t been disappointed._

_“Good,” Imlad had grinned. “Can I try?”_

_“Of cour—mmph!”_

_Dean had kissed him. Pulling away with an embarrassed cough, the human had grinned widely as he smacked his lips a handful of times, humming. “Tasty.”_

Looking at the food on his plate, Castiel almost curls his lip in distaste; he’d much rather taste his meal from Dean’s lips. It’s not that the meat is overcooked or the vegetables aren’t delicious in their own right, but it would be so much _better_ if—

“Castiel!”

Cas snaps from his thoughts immediately, quickly sweeping across the table before landing on Michael. The High Elf’s brow is furrowed as he cants his head to the side, questioning. “Are you alright?”

Everyone is staring at him.

“I apologize.” Castiel clears his throat. “What were you saying?”

“I was asking about your travel plans,” Michael replies, vaguely suspicious. “No doubt now that _Imlad_ has come of age, you’ll set out to search for your One shortly after him.”

Before Castiel can stop himself, his eyes flick to Dean. The other elf catches the movement and no doubt resents it. “I’ve actually decided to stay until _Esseru_ has come of age as well.”

Michael’s brow raises in what appears to be accusation, but before he can begin to speak, Cas opens his mouth: “After all, he is my charge just as _Imlad_ was, and I believe it would only be fair to give his ceremony the same attention.” Cas can almost see when his brother’s blood begins to boil, and despite this, continues on perhaps unwisely. “He is my friend and my family like Dean before him, and I would be remiss to leave; Sam Winchester is my brother.” To bring the point home, Castiel gives the boy in question a slight nod, smiling in the perfect mirror of the expression on _Esseru_ ’s face. Sam appears to be thrilled at being called family, so much so that Cas is taken aback. Perhaps he has not been paying as much attention to his friend in light of his feelings for Dean.

Dean, who is currently staring at him as if he’s hung the moon. The softness in his face is contagious, and Castiel feels his lips curving into a sweet, love-soaked smile even as he tries to curb it.

“And I—” The human turns to Michael, cutting himself off upon noting the angry red tinge of the other’s skin. Gathering his thoughts before attempting to speak again, Dean bows his head. “I wish to stay as well, _hir vuin_ ; with your permission. I cannot leave my brother.”

 _Eru_ , but Cas needs to touch him. He is so strong and brave and loyal and filled with so much love that Castiel longs to brush his skin, just once. Just to remind him that this is real. How long has this lasted without any physical contact between them? Cas doesn’t require much, just a quick little thing to communicate his pride and affection.

The elf slides down marginally in his seat, slipping off his flat shoes and extending his right leg as far as he can reach. Though, in theory, he should be able to brush Dean’s leg, Castiel runs into another appendage halfway there.

Unamused and unimpressed, Michael’s brow all but reaches his hairline. His eyes, though widened in shock perhaps at the audacity, stupidity and _impropriety_ of the action, quickly narrow to angry slits. “Yes, Castiel?” he hisses. “May I help you?”

“I—ah.” A thick swallow; Castiel is no doubt blushing to the tips of his ears. “I was merely—I apologize, Michael. I was stretching my legs.”

Cas doesn’t need to look to know that Anna and Gabriel are besides themselves at their younger brother’s foolishness. Not that Castiel is paying either of them much attention. No, he’s far too busy trying to avoid the playfulness suddenly bright in green eyes.

The main course finishes with the same oppressive silence with which it began, and carries through to the dessert course. It seems every time Castiel catches Dean’s eye Michael becomes more livid, though the eldest elf has nothing clear to punish them for. He stews in his seat, paranoid and angry until Dean begins to groan.

Of course, Castiel is the first to volunteer to accompany him when the human regrettably confesses that he feels ill. Of course, _Imlad_ almost immediately accepts.

“Perhaps Dean should go with Gabriel, if he’s unwell.”

“I’m perfectly capable of handling it, Michael. Let Gabriel finish his meal. I’m no longer hungry.”

“Castiel—”

Some part of Cas’s mind—the part not drowning in affection and happiness—is appalled at how disgustingly obvious they’re being… but his heart is far too thrilled at the prospect of more kissing to care. The elf is up form his chair before his brother has even finished saying his name, striding towards Dean and leading him form the solar. 

As soon as the door to the High Elf’s chambers shuts behind them, Castiel finds himself pulled to the nearest alcove. Dean’s back hits the marble wall none too gently as he all but throws himself into the pooled shadow the tiny area provides, grinning when Cas immediately crowds him. They kiss as if starved for it, hands wandering and petting and pulling and gripping; tangling in clothing and hair, and mouths open and wet. Dean lifts his leg around Cas’s waist as the latter’s hand pushes material to his human’s hip, palming the revealed skin as he presses them together. Arms settle around Castiel's shoulders and Dean nips and sucks on the elf’s lips.

And then something shifts.

It’s within them both—a fire, driving their franticness and urgency—that fizzles out to a contact much more relaxed and languid. Movements trail off into aimless touches, their kisses tapering off into spaced apart things lush with affection. Their foreheads rest against each other’s as they sway in place.

“I’m so friggin’ happy that’s over,” Dean sighs, moving to press his lips high on Castiel’s cheekbone.

“It was awful,” Cas agrees. Turning, he catches his One’s mouth as he’s pulling away.

Dean hums. “Mmm.” Fingers drag down Cas’s arms until they’re entangled with his own, the human’s freckled nose nudging his. He pushes gently at Castiel’s waist with a smile. “C’mon, before his lordship comes lookin’ for us.”

They hold hands all the way back to Dean’s room, grinning and looking back over their shoulders like secrecy has become some kind of game. It’s exciting, in its own way; pulling each other into alcoves and corners at the mere ghost of footsteps echoing down empty corridors. Most everyone is taking their supper, but the pair still approach the Winchesters’ rooms at a hushed and cautious half-skip, half-run, shushing each other’s quiet laughter. They joy they find in one another is obvious as they fall into a kiss against the wooden door.

“Come in, _Bainon_.”

Castiel pulls away only to drop his head onto Dean’s shoulder, groaning: “I want to. _Eru,_ I’ve been all but consumed by the desire to, but…”

“But…?” Dean teases, nipping at the elf’s ear. Cas’s throat turns dry.

“It’s too risky,” he murmurs. “I won’t be able to leave…”

“We’ll figure something out.” 

“No, you misunderstand me,” Castiel mutters. “I won’t _want_ to leave.”

Dean’s laugh is breathy and light as the fingers twirling locks of Cas’s hair. “I guess that’d be a problem for Sammy, huh?”

“Understatement.”

“So… I guess we should just say goodnight?”

“That would be the smartest course of action.”

Silence.

“…You know that you’ll have to let go of me to leave, right?”

“I’m working myself up to it,” Castiel mumbles.

Dean’s chuckle is low and gorgeous, and when he kisses Cas in the same way, the elf’s toes curl. “Sweet sleep, _mel hûn_ ,” he breathes as they part.

“Sweet sleep.”

Castiel is far too busy looking back at Dean to notice the figure hiding behind the pillar in the furthest corner of the hall.

 

~ * ~

 

Michael is besides himself.

He feels more than ill—like his very blood has been poisoned and is killing him slowly and without mercy; his muscles are so tensed he’s going to shatter. He has to force himself to be calm, teeth clenched so hard his jaw begins to ache as he takes carful, measured steps towards the door. It’s all the High Elf can do to stand there, fuming, when all he wants is to break the damn thing down and strangle the human inside. Clearly, Dean and Castiel have kissed each other before, and clearly, they are intimate with each other. Clearly, Castiel was not bluffing and they have _feelings_ for one another.

Not for the first time, he wishes he had left Dean Winchester to the fiery remains of Laketown.

Michael knows what he must do.

He fetches five guards from the garrison’s dining hall, leading them to _Imlad_ ’s door and knocking in a brisk manner. The minute Dean opens up, Michel knows he expected his brother; the dreamy smile slips right off his face: “Didja change your—oh.”

“Oh?” Michael asks, raising a brow. His fists are white with the effort of keeping them still. “One would wonder who you were waiting for to be so disappointed, _Imlad_.”

“No one,” Dean stutters. “My lord—I was waiting for no one.”

“Wonderful.” Michael’s smile slithers across his face. “Then you won’t mind helping me move your belongings.”

“My… what?”

“As you have nothing to do right now,” the High Elf explains exasperatedly, pushing into the room. “You won’t mind bringing your belongings to different chambers. You’re much too old to be sharing with your brother, aged as you are: now you, Dean Winchester, are a man.” Michael cants his head to the side. “And men need their own space.”

“No,” Dean breathes. “No, I have to stay with him. He’s my brother, please—”

“Dean,” Michael condescends, tutting. “This obsessive, co-dependent relationship you have with Sam needs to end. I think time apart would do you both good. As I said, you’re a man now… you need someplace to go to be alone, some place far-removed… some place with a lock. It is our custom, you understand.”

“Orc shit,” Dean spits. “Whatever you want with Sam, you can forget it, ‘cause I’ll _never_ —”

Michael nods to the nearest guard.

“No, _get off of me_!” the human growls as elvish soldiers grab hold of him. “ _Get off_! Stop it! Stop—”

As the High Elf watches Dean be dragged out of the room, he clucks his tongue disapprovingly. This is the creature his youngest brother has chosen? Dean Winchester is a savage, practically foaming at the mouth as he throws his little tantrum. Castiel has spoiled him past the point of belligerence; now, the human throws insults like a monkey throws feces, and Michael’s lip curls in disgust. He nods to one of the guards, who promptly strikes Dean over the head, knocking him out. At the blessed silence, Michael sighs.

“The tower,” he waves off. “Lock the door.”

 

~ * ~

 

Castiel stays in his own rooms for all of ten minutes before he convinces himself there is nothing harmful in his desire to leave. After all, spending an evening with both Winchesters is something for which he is long overdue, and it would be good, he thinks, to have the opportunity to catch up with Sam specifically. Perhaps it would even be good to expose him to this new tactile relationship he and Dean have. Slowly.

Yes, he’ll go see the Winchesters, and he’ll speak with Sam, and if there’s kissing involved at some point then that will be an absurdly happy coincidence. Good.

“Apologies, your Lordship, but His Lordship of _Imladris_ has commanded you get a good night's rest.”

“I—excuse me?”

“His Lordship of _Imladris_ has commanded—”

“No, I heard you, Zephon.”

Slowly—ever so slowly—Castiel’s heart seizes in his chest, realization dawning in crawling, squeezed beats as he looks at the soldier with a frown. “He's put me under house arrest," Cas says carefully. "Michael has... locked me in my rooms? With a guard?" The elf at his door looks on in silence. "On what grounds?" Castiel demands.

Of course, there is no answer.

Which means only one thing.

“I need to go.”

But when he tries to slip through the door, his bicep is held fast. Castiel looks at the gripped appendage with narrowed eyes.

“Apologies, Sir, but his Lordship gave explicit orders.”

“Where is Balthazar?!”

“He has been relieved of his duties for the evening. I believe he is in his quarters.”

“No doubt locked away like I am?” Cas shoots back. “Release me.”

“I’m afraid I cannot do that, Sir.”

“I may be young but I am still your _Lord_ —”

“With all due respect,” the dark-skinned Jophiel says from his other side. “Your eldest kin is who we’ve sworn oath to. We’re simply following orders.”

“Then you are as cowardly as you are cruel,” Castiel spits. Tearing his arm from Zephon’s grip, the elf steps backward into the sanctuary of his rooms and shakes his head. “Shut the door,” he orders. “And leave me. If I am being held prisoner then I will act it: do not bother with food or water, I won’t consume it.”

“My Lord Castiel, please. Lord Michael wishes—”

“Lord _Michael_ ,” Cas seethes. “Wishes for his own happiness and will destroy whomever he _wishes_ to obtain it. _Leave_.”

As soon as the door clicks shut before him, Castiel makes for his wardrobe.

He immediately changes his clothing, slipping on his training gear and grabbing a dagger from one of the tables littering his room. He thinks he’s too angry to be upset, but tears prickle at the corner of his eyes and the elf frowns in an attempt to banish them. He doesn’t have time to cry, he thinks as he strips his bed of the sheets and winds them around his doorhandles in a makeshift lock. He needs to find the Winchesters.

Grabbing the emergency rope from the back of his wardrobe, Castiel slings the coil across his chest and walks out onto the balcony.

It’s cold—of course it is, it’s January—but mittens and gloves will not afford him a good grip and a cloak will get in the way. Besides, it isn’t too far; even with the snow slowing him down Cas should arrive at the Winchesters’ room in a quarter of an hour or so. That’s doable in this temperature.

Still, when Castiel stumbles onto the balcony on the other side of the complex, his fingers are numb and his teeth chatter.

Sam immediately looks up from where he’s curled into his knees, eyes red-rimmed and wet. “…Cas?”

“Sam,” Cas breathes in relief. He all but throws himself at his friends, freezing arms wrapping around him in a hug. Sam reciprocates immediately. “What happened?”

“I can’t see him,” Sam murmurs. “Michael said he’s moving to his own room, which is fine, but I can’t leave, Cas, I—” He casts a cursory glance towards the large wooden doors. “There are guards, and I tried to banging on the door, but—”

“Me too,” Castiel soothes, stroking long, dark hair. “Don’t worry, alright? He did the same to me. This is good. This is a good thing, Sam.”

“How is this a good thing?” Sam demands. He begins to raise his voice: “That dick fucking _abducted_ my brother, Castiel, he—mmph!”

“Keep your voice down!” Cas hisses, sliding a hand over the human’s mouth. “Listen to me, alright? Of course this isn’t ideal. Of course, I would much prefer having a brother who is _not_ a deranged, egotistical assbutt, who doesn’t kidnap the object of my affections lock my family away. But, owing to the fact that he indeed is all these things—and more—I’m fairly certain I know where Dean is.”

Sam frowns. “Where?” 

“The tower.”

 

~ * ~

 

The tower isn’t very aptly named. Though the word brings to mind spires and turrets from faerie stories, Rivendell was built as a military outpost, not a palace, though it often feels like one. In all actuality, the tower is simply a single room located in what could be considered an attic above the dungeons. Considered a prison for “important” guests, the room is decently sized and decorated, though its stained glass windows are small and open on bars marring its view.

It’s also relatively easy to reach by rooftop.

Tied to Castiel’s waist by way of the rope he’d brought, Sam carefully holds on to the elf’s back, tucking his face into Cas’s hair to avoid the sudden wind. It takes them almost a quarter of an hour to arrive at their destination, due to the extra weight and the snow beginning to fall, but when they do it’s Sam who climbs down to knock at a glass pane through the bars. “Dean! Dean, open up, it’s Sam! DEAN!” the human hisses, mindful of how his voice carries.

Castiel, holding tightly to the rope in his hands, chances a look over the edge of the roof. Sam barely swallows his yelp as he slips down three inches with the movement: “CAS!”

“Sorry!” Cas whisper-yells. “I’m sorry!”

“…Sam?”

_Dean._

Castiel can barely see Dean’s hands reach beyond the bars on his window, fingers threading his brother’s as they squeeze tight. “Sammy—”

“Don’t worry, okay?” Sam replies. “We’re coming in.”

But, of course, the bars won’t budge.

Luckily, Samuel Winchester is as brilliant as he is kind.

The human calls upon his knowledge of alchemy and recites an incantation to shrink the metal bar in its slot, sliding the piece out and slipping though the open window itself. As soon as Castiel feels two consecutive tugs on the rope, he follows Sam down.

The room is colder than the elf remembers, and smaller, too. Sam and Dean, from where they stand clutching to each other in the middle of it, take up quite a bit of space. The stone floor is uneven under his boots and scuffs against his soles the moment he touches ground, causing green eyes to snap up and widen immediately.

“Oh, thank _Eru_.”

Castiel is practically bowled over.

Dean has him smushed up against the wall, his right fingers tangled in the material of Castiel’s shirt while his left still grips tight to Sam’s arm. The younger Winchester does not appear to be impressed at being dragged around. “How did you even—?”

“The roof,” Sam pipes in. “Cas knew the way.”

Whirling around, Dean frowns. The elf shrugs. “It was a gamble, but I thought Michael would be most likely to put you here.”

“Huh.”

“Yes.”

Quickly, Dean leans forward, pecking Castiel’s lips sweetly before he ducks his head and clears his throat, nodding. He’s blushing. “Uh, thanks.”

Cas is beet-red himself. “You’re welcome.”

They smile at each other.

Off to the side, Sam rolls his eyes.

All three talk well into the night, settled on Dean’s small but relatively comfortable bed until they fall asleep. Sam is the first to close his eyes, stuck to his brother as tightly as a barnacle while Dean, turned on his side, faces Castiel. The elf is currently tracing the lies of his face while they murmur to each other, blankets pulled up high to shield them from the cold. One of Dean’s hands holds tight to Sam’s, but the other is draped around Cas.

“I’m worried about him.”

“About Sam?”

Dean gives a small nod. “Yeah,” he replies quietly. “You and me, we’re both grown, now. Who’ll be there to protect him?”

“He’s still my charge,” Cas whispers. “And your brother. Don’t worry, Dean, Michael wouldn’t harm him.”

But Dean doesn’t seem convinced.

Leaning in, Castiel presses a sweet kiss to his One’s lips, nudging their noses as they part. “Trust me,” he breathes. “I know my brother. And because of that, I’m more worried about _you_.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Cas has a hard time believing him. Even the mere thought of the opposite being true—of Dean being hurt because of Michael, Castiel’s _kin_ —has his blue eyes glassy, but the elf can’t help but consider it a possibility. His fingers move to trace the bolt of Dean’s jaw. “Maybe we should stop.”

Dean frowns. “And let him win? Cas, no. I—I mean, I know it’s stupidly new, but I… I like this, with you, a lot. Do you…?”

Castiel is almost offended that he’d ask such a thing. “ _Of course_ ,” he says with quiet vehemence.

“Then why stop? For him?”

“He’ll hurt you.”

“Not in the ways that matter.”

“No… but I think—” Cas swallows. “I think every way matters, now. I need you to be safe.”

“We’ll keep each other safe,” Dean whispers, giving a nervous huff of laughter. “Cas, if you’re lookin’ to make me happy and all that crap, tossing me on my ass ain’t the way to do it… especially not after today.”

“But in the future—”

“We’ll deal with it,” Dean promises. “And hey, who knows? Star-crossed lovers thing? Might be exciting, y’know? Or… romantic, or whatever.” He blushes and smiles, and he’s so lovely that Castiel feels his chest ache. To abate that some, the elf presses a soft kiss to his One’s mouth.

“It never ends well for star-crossed lovers,” he whispers, resigned. “They’re never happy in the end.”

“Yeah,” Dean breathes back. “Wanna know why?”

“…Why?”

“’Cause they’ve never been us,” the human explains. “We’ll be the first, Cas,” he vows, “I promise.”

Though Castiel grins teasingly in response, his heart has all but melted in his chest. “Are you promising me forever, Dean Winchester?”

Dean rolls his eyes, his face as bright a red as a ripened strawberry. “I don’t know if I can handle your snoring two nights in a row,” he jokes. “And you wanna talk about forever?”

“Liar,” Cas accuses. “I don’t snore.”

“Uh, yeah, you do.”

“Do not.”

“And how would you know, huh? You’re asleep when it happens.”

“I don’t snore, Dean.”

“Yeah yeah. Prove it.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” They grin at each other from across the pillow, and Cas closes his eyes as if to prove a point. He feels Dean moving until suddenly, the human is pressing their mouths together in a goodnight kiss. They part with a sigh.

Cas’s eyes slip open. “You know I’ll have to leave with Sam before sunrise,” he murmurs, loathe to even think of leaving this.  

“I know.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I know,” Dean breathes, tucking hair behind a pointed ear. “But we’ll see each other tomorrow.”

“Most definitely.”

“We…” he trails off here, nervous. “Maybe we should go hunting. I’d like to catch something for you.”

Castiel’s entire body feels warm at the suggestion. “And I, you,” he replies, trying to curb his enthusiasm for the idea.

“Great,” Dean grins. “So, tomorrow. We’ll have something to look forward to.”

“Yes.”

“Good.” This sentiment is punctuated by one final peck, the human pulling away to rest their foreheads together. “Night, Cas.”

Castiel absently runs a hand through light hair. “Sleep sweetly, Dean.”

They dream with twin smiles on their faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
>  _Imladris _: Rivendell__  
>  _Imlad_ : Dean  
>  _Esseru_ : Sam  
>  _Naneth_ : Mother  
>  _Meleth_ : Lifepartner/Bondmate (gender neutral)  
>  _Melethron_ : Lifepartner/Bondmate (male)  
>  _Galu_ : Farewell  
>  _La channon_ : Thank you  
>  _Na_ : Yes  
>  _Bainon_ : Beautiful  
>  _Mel hûn_ : My heart  
>  _Hir vuin_ : My lord  
> 


	14. Na Lû E-Govaned Vîn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they are apart and together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I am so incredibly sorry it's taken me so long to update... abut it's paper-writing season and so of course I've procrastinated enough to finish this! This one was actually supposed to be much longer, but I cut the chapter I'm working on in half and decided to post, because I feel like 15k is a good update. I also apologize for some of the quality of this one, I'm not a fan of how all of it turned out. 
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts, and as usual, the glossary is at the end. Hover for immediate translation.

Castiel has only just slipped back into his own bed when the door creaks open. Having changed into his sleep shift, he stretches languidly, blinking in an exaggerated fashion when Zephon enters with the first meal. Clearing his throat, Castiel eyes the other with suspicion, staring as he brings forth a warm plate.

“Will I be permitted to leave my rooms this morning?” Cas asks casually.

Zephon does not look up. “Of course, my lord may come and go as he please.”

“Of course,” Castiel bites in response. He angrily twists his fingers in his sheets. “How generous. Oh, Zephon, I won’t be needing any of this.”

“…My lord?” Zephon asks, confused.

Cas relishes his next words. “Where you not informed? This morning, I have alternate arrangements to break my fast.”

Castiel has slipped out of bed and marched through the door before he has been graced with a reply.

Feet pounding against the marble, Cas skids to a stop before the tower door, frowning at the lack of security there. With his heart racing, now, the elf tears up the small spiral staircase and bursts into the room, panting.

He sprints from the empty room more panicked than perhaps he’s ever been.

Castiel sprints back down the stairs, bare feet pounding against the marble floor as he slips around corners and weaves through elves amidst their morning work. His destination is but a hazy idea as his heart pushes him ever forward, legs aching as he slides down bannisters and throws open doors. “Dean!” the elf calls, desperate. “ _Dean!_ ”

“Are you daft?!”

Plucking him from the hallway, Hannah, of all people, has used his momentum to pull him into a spare room, the other pushing him up against the wall so hard his head cracks painfully against it. She has a hand over his mouth, her own blue eyes narrowed in a glare to Castiel’s wide ones.

“You know, I told you I was rooting for you, all those years ago,” she says. “But the sheer amount of _stupidity_ you possess is making that increasingly difficult.”

Cas frowns.

“Now, can I take my hand away? Or will you continue to yell like a banshee?”

Castiel is silent.

Hannah releases him carefully, as if terrified he’ll scream and run again, but Castiel is confused.

Extremely confused.

“I don’t…”

“Exactly right,” she replies curtly. “You _don’t_. More specifically, you do not _think_. What good would it do to tear the palace apart? You know he’s not here.”

And Cas does know. As hard as it is to admit it, he knew the moment there were no guards outside Dean’s door: his One is gone. Gritting his teeth, the elf narrows his eyes at an unseen threat, taking a harsh step forward before Hannah once again presses him against the wall.

“ _Release me_ ,” he orders.

“With all due respect: not on your pretty noble life, my lord.”

“Hannah, release me this instant or I will—”

“Will what?” she demands. “What will you do, Castiel? Because I know where you’re going even if you do not, and I will not let you arrive there.”

“I will speak to my brother and you will not stand in my way!”

“And what good would that do?!”

Though Cas has managed to push Hannah away from him, the other elf comes back quickly. After some slight grappling, she manages to once again have Castiel against the wall, though this time, she keeps him there with a dagger to his neck. It’s from the kitchens, and while Hannah is no trained warrior, she, like all other elves of _Imladris_ , knows how to fight. She perspires now, nervous under the weight of her actions. Threatening a Lord in such a manner is treasonous.

“ _Listen to me_ ,” she urges. “I understand that you’re scared, but throwing a fit will do nobody any good, do you hear me? Dean is safe.”

All at once, relief floods Cas’s body.

“You’ve seen him?” he asks, desperate. “Where? Tell me—”

“ _Calm down_.”

“I am calm! Hannah, I’m calm, please—”

“He’s been sent on a scouting mission.”

“A scouting mission? In the winter?"

“Michael claims that there have been whisperings."

“Whisperings of what?” Cas demands. “Orcs? Trolls? You know they never come this far North.”

“Of course I know that, everyone knows that.”

“Then why—”

“Castiel, if you already know, then why must I tell you?”

He clenches his jaw. “I need to hear it. I need to hear it from someone other than myself.”

“It will only upset you—”

“I’m already upset!” he exclaims. “ _Eru,_ Hannah, my… my _brother_ hates my One so much that he’s locked him in a tower! He’s beaten him, he’s verbally abused him, he’s done all manner of awful things—to him and me—and now…”

“Now he’s sent him away,” Hannah says quietly. “No one knows for how long.”

Swallowing thickly, Cas fists his sleep shift. “I must speak with him—”

“And say what?” Her voice soft now, Hannah regards Castiel with pity. “Beg for his swift return? They’re gone, Cas.”

“Then I will go after them—”

“You can’t.”

“I can, and I will. Now—”

“ _No_.” Pressing the blade more insistently to his throat in warning, Hannah shakes her head. “You’re not thinking like a strategist. To Michael, this is war; he believes he’s trying to protect you, and that makes him beyond dangerous. You know this. You know that those who believe they are in the right will do anything to forward their cause. But you have been so blinded by the joy of what you feel that you have not been careful. They’ll be back, Cas, they have to be. You can only bide your time.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“It will have to be. Castiel, Michael has no doubt separated you and will be watching your reaction closely. Acting as you have been—tearing the palace apart, threatening those who stand in your way—that all plays into the idea that Dean is a barbarian and has influenced you into acting the same. Don’t you see? Michael is manipulating you.”

Vision suddenly blurred, Cas blinks rapidly, turning away. “It could be months.”

“It could,” Hannah agrees. “But what other choice do you have?”

Resting his head against the wall, Castiel squeezes his eyes shut. “None, now that you put it like that.” Baby blues opening again, he regards Hannah with a small frown. “Why are you helping me? We barely know each other, other than that one time—”

“You can’t be so naïve as to think all of _Imladris_ would turn a blind eye to the controversial path you’ve chosen—to that fact that you’re different. Every morsel of information regarding you and Dean Winchester is shared throughout the community immediately. I’ve been rooting for you since the beginning, of which you are well aware—”

“But why?” Cas repeats. “What do you expect to gain from helping me?”

Hannah’s eyes squint in confusion, her head tilting to the side. “I don’t understand… There is nothing I hope to gain, Castiel. I have no ulterior motive. I love you.”

Cas’s heart all but freezes in his chest. “Hannah…”

“No, please,” she blushes, looking at him with a kind smile. “Please, let me finish. I know that, years ago in the kitchen, I told you that you were my _melethron_. And I honestly still believe that, I do, but I also think that perhaps I’m different, just as you are. I have no want for children, Castiel. I have no real need for companionship… and I could care less about pleasures of the flesh. You may be my One, and I may love you, but I do not think I am in love you with you. Moreover, I do not believe I can be in love with anyone.”

“How is that…?”

“How should I know?” she shrugs. “But I’ve looked; no elf in recorded history has been paired with someone who did not love them back. I’m the only one.”

“Then I’ve broken you,” Cas concludes. “By virtue of being the way I am, I’ve—”

Hannah rolls her eyes. “With respect, my lord, _you_ couldn’t make me do a thing. The both of us—you and I—were simply made differently than the others. It is because of this difference, and because of my love for you that I help you and Dean, now.” Stepping back, Hannah gives Castiel a smile and flips the knife in her hand, offering the handle first. “We have to stick together.”

Taken aback, Cas carefully takes the knife in hand with a nod. Hannah’s smile grows.

“I’ll keep a sharp eye and ear for your beloved.”

“Thank you.”

Hand on the door, Hannah turns back. “You’re very welcome, Cas.”

 

~ * ~

 

"You wanted to see me, my lord?"

Michael barely looks up from his table, his long fingers tracing a path on the map painted on its top. "Come, brother."

Dutifully, Castiel steps forward, his own hands clasped behind his back as he comes to stand at attention. It takes everything for the elf to stay calm; to hold himself as a soldier and not pull his sword on his kin. What could have been so important as to interrupt the training of the next generation?

Michael lets Castiel sweat for another few moments, turning to lean back on the piece of furniture and merely staring at his youngest sibling contemplatively. It's clear he expects an outburst, and Cas doesn't give him one. 

"Did you have a pleasant morning?"

Castiel digs his nails into his palm. "Yes, my lord," he replies succinctly.

"You ate well?"

"Yes, my lord."

There's a beat before Michael rolls his eyes, frustrated. "How was the breaking of your fast, Castiel?"

"Fine, my lord," Cas replies.

"If not in your rooms, where were you?"

"Does that matter, my lord?"

Michael bites his lip, looking down at the table before his hands slam down on it. "I tire of these games, Castiel!"

"My lord?"

Turning his back, Michael leans over the war table, shoulders hunched and fingers digging into its wood before straightening. "Nevermind," he says in a dangerously calm voice. "You're free to go."

Cas is almost to the door when his brother's voice gives him pause, his words floating from the opposite en of the room: "I know you broke your fast with Samuel Winchester," he calls. "You'd do well to remember that nothing happens in _Imladris_ without my knowing."

Though Cas's heart seizes at the implication, he grins on his way out.

“Begging your pardon, my lord,” he says. “But if that’s the case, why did you even bother to ask?”

Cas spends the rest of the day outside.

He utilizes the daylight to train his students and walk in the frozen the gardens before helping with various other chores. He makes time to visit Sam as well, happy for the company. In fact, Castiel cannot remember the last time he spent so much time simply _speaking_ with his youngest charge. _Esseru_ is more than happy to speak enthusiastically of his lessons and tutelage under Gabriel specifically, confessing that while he does enjoy combat, he prefers to read as much as he possibly can.

“I’ve been looking into human culture,” he confesses as they sit in the middle of the library, books spread out over the table. “I’m curious, you know? Dean remembers a little, but it’s not much. And, I mean, the books here aren’t exactly without their bias, but it’s interesting, at least. I found a lot on rituals of love.”

Despite blushing to his ears, Castiel nods along. “It makes sense,” he says. “It is, after all, where humans and elves differ most notably outside the more obvious biological factors. As a people, the _edhellen_ are primarily concerned with recording their own history… comparisons of this nature are not so rare in this library. There are books on orcs and dwarves and hobbits as well.”

“I’ve read some of them,” Sam affirms.

“Of course, it should always be known that we live in the Age of Elves,” Cas murmurs dutifully. “And that Elves are the greatest species on this Earth.”

“Well, that goes without saying,” Sam agrees sarcastically.

Cas huffs a smile, his long fingers playing with the edge of a piece of parchment. “I’ve missed you, Sam,” he confesses quietly. “I don’t feel I’ve been fair to you. With this… with the mess of what’s become of my relationship with—”

“Hey,” Sam interrupts with a grin. “I missed you, too. And…” Trailing off, the human grunts as he reaches for a book on the far corner of the table, opening it to a bookmarked page before tapping at the passage underneath a colourful illustration.

Quickly scanning the page, Cas’s furrowed brows smooth in understanding. “Marriage,” the elf breathes. In a beat, blues eyes flick up to meet hazel ones. “Why are you showing me this?”

“No reason,” Sam shrugs, picking at a non-existent piece of lint on his shoulder.

“It’s been a day, Sam.”

Samuel Winchester raises a brow. “It’s been much longer than that.” Pursing his lips, the human rises to his feet with a shrug, lips curling into a smirk. “Just, you know, read it. Think about it.”

“Has it escaped your attention that my brother has sent yours away to keep us apart? I should think you’d want us to end whatever it is we’re doing, not—not _pledge ourselves_ to one another.”

“I guess I should, right?” Sam asks rhetorically. “But love’s a funny thing: even with everything Michael is putting him through, I’ve never seen Dean happier. And yesterday at dinner, _you_ —I mean, it was kind of uncomfortable. You were just looking at each other and… and I love him, and I love you. And this right here, this _marriage_ ritual, it proves that we can be just as monogamous as elves, so…”

Chewing his lip, Cas nods, overwhelmed. He knows that human marriage is simply the swearing romantic loyalty to one another under the eyes of the human God, nothing more. He doubts he’ll learn more form the small paragraph Sam has picked out. Besides, even if he did, what good would it do? He and Dean haven’t even had the chance to speak of their relationship, let alone promise themselves to one another. Cas would be lying if he said he didn’t want to be Bonded or married, but he has no idea how Dean feels—presumably, he would be open to the idea… but so soon? This thing between them is so _new._

And what of Michael?

It is known that humans do not always remain faithful in marriage. On this basis alone, the High Elf will call into question the legitimacy of marriage as a concept. Judging by the increasingly desperate lengths Michael has gone to ensure Cas and Dean spend as little time together as possible, Bonding will not result in any sort of positive reaction on his part. After all, he’s been taking each attempt to keep he and Dean apart farther each year… who’s to say he won’t kill his One if he feels a Bond is the last straw?

Chewing his lip, Castiel pushes these dark thoughts from his mind; there’s no use in dwelling on them because they are currently not an issue: Cas has always known that any relationship he has with Dean would need to be kept secret… or, at least, away from Michael’s prying eyes.

Still, it’s a shock when he’s called to his brother’s solar and the Lady of Mirkwood, in all her glory, stands to greet him.

Castiel knows what this is.

The elf takes a step forward, swallowing thickly. Off to the side, Michael stands, silent. He makes no move to hide the fact that he stares. 

Cas prays for the floor to dissolve from under him. After all, it already feels as if it's breaking apart; like every slab of marble has cracked beneath his booted feet and will swallow him whole. 

It’s like walking to the gallows. Like sailing into knowingly into a storm and having to bear the consequences. She's beautiful, of course she is, but she is not who Castiel wants. She will never be who Castiel wants.

Cas is aware that he has a decision to make.

On the one hand, he can inform both parties that he is seeing someone else, and face Michael's wrath. Though by itself his anger would not be so difficult to handle—Castiel sincerely doubts his brother will harm him—he is nervous at not having Dean near enough to ensure his safety. Not to mention that even if Dean were near, Cas has no idea how Michael's anger would manifest... no doubt as something painful. 

From the way Michael is looking at him, he is well aware of both of these, and knows Castiel is, too. It is plain in the victorious smile that steals across his face the moment Cas tips his head in a bow. "My Lady Jehoel, welcome to Rivendell."

Though she appears to be shocked by his use of the Common Tongue, she quickly recovers, bowing herself. "My lord Castiel." 

Michael, while unhappy with the language choice, gives a smile before nodding to them both. "Perhaps the Lady would enjoy a tour of the palace, Castiel."

Cas, despite feeling his heart begin to break at this forced betrayal, puts on a brave smile. "Of course. Shall we?"

"Yes." 

He leads them, without touching, out of the room.

The Lady Jehoel.

His suitor.

 

~ * ~

 

“The morning agrees with you, Castiel. You bloom in its light like a flower.”

Cas gives a forced smile at the compliment and continues their amble. They’ve been silent throughout the entire tour of Rivendell’s infrastructure, but the beauty of the frozen gardens has obviously inspired speech. “My Lady is too kind.”

“Nonsense, I merely speak plainly,” she smiles, inclining her head. “You are every bit as captivating as they say.”

“A thousand thanks,” Castiel replies, awkward. His clasped, gloved, hands clench further where they rest against his lower back, and the elf gives an awkward smile. The Lady Jehoel turns away and bites her lip. Cas knows this must be humiliating for her—to initiate _Mel Ubed_ only to have her advances ignored, but Castiel will not give her false hope.

He loves Dean and only Dean.

"How is Mirkwood?" Cas manages, looking over to give his full attention. Jehoel's long blonde hair shimmers in the light as she walks. Though her long green cloak drags on the floor as she walks, she appears to be floating through the iced-over garden. Her nose, red from the cold, is peppered with freckles just as Dean's. 

Snow crunches under their feet as the Lady answers, casual: "Fine," she replies. "It is my impression that winter is easier there than here."

"I do admit that the mountain does not always protect us from the cold," Cas says. Jehoel smiles.

"Perhaps you should come live in a forest," she teases. "The wind is not nearly so harsh there, and below the ground, the cold is but a distant memory."

"Ah, but do you have the privilege of witnessing the world frozen over and of freezing yourself?" Castiel banters. "Truly, one cannot sail to Valinor without experiencing frostbite at least once."

A grin. "You'll forgive me if I decline that kind offer, ser."

Cas shrugs, smiling at his boots. "Yes, well... I suppose frostbite isn't for everyone. It is worth it, mind, to live here."

"It's beautiful," Jehoel agrees. Hesitating for only a moment, the Lady pulls off one of her own gloves, reaching forward to brush against Castiel's shaven cheek. "And yet your loveliness surpasses even its majesty," she murmurs, looking up at him through dark green eyes. Her fingertips come away from Cas's skin wet with snowflakes. "How is that, I wonder?"

Castiel's stomach twists unpleasantly in time with the anxious, squeezing upset of his heart, and the elf immediately steps back. He blushes and clears his throat, his posture rigid as he nods for no reason. "We've lingered far too long, I think," he says quickly, stepping away and making for the warmth of inside. "Come."

"Castiel, forgive me—"

"For what?" Cas asks, his voice strained. "My dear Lady, there is nothing to forgive."

"I've upset you."

"N-No," Castiel replies, quick to keep up the charade as they walk. "Of course not. I simply—Truly, we've lingered far too long when there is so much to see. Are you hungry? Or tired, perhaps, from walking? Come."

Filled with stilted, awkward conversation, Cas is not surprised when, during supper, Jehoel announces that she will be returning home. 

He is, however, relieved.

 

~ * ~

 

In the kitchen, Castiel eyes a roll from a passing tray, causing Hannah to smile sympathetically. Shaking her head, she ensures her superior is looking away before she pours a bowl of hot oats and sprinkles dried fruit atop it, finishing the presentation with drizzled honey. Pursing her lips, she pushes the bowl across the floured countertop. "You ask the same question every morning and after three days the answer has not changed. You'll want to be careful, Castiel."

Accepting the bowel with a nod of thanks, Cas makes to look for a spoon, giving what he hopes is a charming smile as Hannah reaches into a nearby drawer with a roll of her blue eyes. "Now, if you're finished being an insufferable distraction and rooting through my kitchen," she says. "I have breakfasts to prepare."

"But... you will tell me, won't you?" Cas replies, looking around and keeping his voice down. "If you hear anything?"

Sighing, Hannah places her hands, palms flat, on the counter, her expression turning soft despite a raised brow. "Didn't I say I would?" she asks. "Now go, Cas. Lingering every morning and speaking plain will not allay suspicion."

Shoving a bite of the blessedly warm food into his mouth, Castiel swallows quickly in order to answer. His shrug is clearly forced to be casual. "...I could help you, that would be an excuse."

"And have our Lord of Rivendell throw a fit at you shirking your own duties?" she laughs. "No thank you." Tilting her chin, she gestures to the door, lips tugging up in an encouraging smile. "Go; Sam will receive his meal soon and you should join him, not to mention the fact that you have yet another suitor to entertain today."

"Because that's going so wonderfully," Cas mutters. "We were introduced yesterday and I've already forgotten his name."

"Well, you can be certain he'll have remembered yours."

"This is ridiculous. How long am I expected to—"

"Cas," Hannah sighs.

Drawing Dean's symbol on the flour before him, he wipes the area clean with a humourless smile. He nods. “Pray for me.”

“I always do.”

 

~ * ~

 

“Any word?”

It's so early the sun has not yet risen, but the kitchens are a hub of activity. Elves bustle around, baking whole grain bread and pastry for the morning meal, kneading and shaping and kneading some more. Hannah is at the edge of the fray, working tirelessly in her usual space. 

"Hannah?"

All she has to do is smile.

"Are you sure?" Castiel demands, barely keeping his voice even. He will not get his hopes up only to have them dashed. Not again. 

"You've been harassing me for how long and now you won't believe me?" she teases. "The question you should be asking yourself is: _why am I still here_?"

Castiel's heart is so full and is beating so fast, he doesn't know how he's still standing. "I-I need fruit," he says quickly, editing his speech as words tumble from his lips. "I'm very hungry and... and I need some. Please."

With a proud grin, Hannah dips in a curtsy. "Right away, my lord."

There are no guards outside the Tower, which makes it incredibly easy to penetrate. Ten minutes after leaving the kitchen with his tray, Castiel is tiptoeing into Dean's room. His human is no more than a lump of tangled covers, but it's more than enough to stop Cas in his tracks. Putting the tray down on he nearest table, the elf simply stands and stares for a while, fidgeting with the hem of his clothes. Dean is snoring softly, his booted feet peeking out of the mess of sheets and blankets while his head remains buried. Carefully, Castiel removes his footwear and brings forth a chair from the corner of the room. He melts into his seat, suddenly exhausted, and dozes with his hand twisted in the bedding. 

 

~ * ~

 

"What're you doin' all the way over there?"

Though it takes a moment for Castiel to get his bearings, he smiles at the sound of his One's voice, eyes cracking open lazily. "You're awake."

"So are you," Dean grins back. They stare at each other for a spell, awkwardness encroaching into the space that surrounds them as they try and navigate their reunion. 

"My neck hurts," Cas says uselessly, in an attempt to break the silence. Dean grins. 

"Yeah, well, you slept on a chair."

"I didn't want to disturb you."

Dean bites his lip and wipes his palms on his filthy clothing, tips of his ears turning red. "...You should've, though," he mutters, shy of his desires. "You should."

Swallowing thickly, Castiel moves until he's seated beside his _Imlad_ at the edge of the mattress, both parties unsure of where to put their hands. In the end, it's Cas who reaches forward and brushes his fingers across the bolt of his peach-fuzzed jaw. "I missed you so much," he breathes.

"Me too."

"It's almost laughable," Cas muses. "You were only gone for five days, but... when I went to find you and you were gone, I thought the worst."

"I was fine. But what about you? You're the one having to deal with Michael directly."

Cas rolls his eyes. "Michael has been bringing in suitors, each one more alike you than the last."

Dean turns away in response to that tidbit, swallowing thickly. "Oh. Huh. So, um, have you...?"

Castiel frowns, and tucking his hand under Dean's chin, the elf turns the other's face. "You are the one I want," he murmurs, blue eyes imploring for _Imlad_ to read beyond his words and stay despite their hidden meaning. "The only one."

And then Dean kisses him.

It's like finding an oasis after months in the desert, and Castiel drinks his fill until their urgency has given way to softer, more deliberate things. Dean's hands pull and push at the material of Cas's robes while the elf busies himself with burying his fingers in light hair. 

That's when he feels it.

Small but unmistakably his own tight braid pattern, Castiel wrenches away from their kiss to confirm what he already knows.

"Cas, what—?"

But Castiel is too preoccupied with the fact that Dean still wears his braid; that even in the five days he's been away, he has not undone it. "You..."

"Ah," Dean blushes profusely, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. Sorry. I, uh, I liked having a piece of you with me, I guess. I can undo it—"

"Why?" Cas demands, suddenly panicked. "Do you... do you no longer want it?"

"'Course I want it!" Dean replies quickly. "I mean, I want it... if you want it. I—" he exhales shakily against Castiel's approaching mouth, kissing him breathlessly. "I want it."

"I had to change mine," Cas whispers. "I didn't have a choice, but I swear—"

"Hey, it's okay."

"I'd like to wear your braid," Cas says softly. "Underneath, like you wear mine."

"Okay," Dean breathes, his lips turning up in a blinding smile. "Yeah, okay."

Turning around, Castiel lets down his hair from the messy do it had been up in, shaking out the dark locks before looking over his shoulder, coy: "Please?"

Dean gladly gets to work.

He admires his braid once it’s done, unable to stop touching it even as he called to meet his next suitor. Forced to spend the day away from Dean, his One occupies his every thought, and he can’t imagine he’s good company. Castiel very nearly sighs in relief when the other elf retires to freshen up before supper, and all but beats down Dean’s door in his haste to drag him outside for a hunt. After all, before Dean left they’d promised each other that they’d do this.

Though, considering the fact that they haven’t seen each other in days and their time is short, it seems optimistic to assume any real hunting will transpire.

" _Cas_ ," _Imlad_ laughs as they run past the treeline, his nose bright red from the cold and lips frozen in a thrilled smile. "Where're we goin'?"

"Away!" Castiel exclaims, giddy. The pair stumble through the snowy forest, mittened hands held tight to one another's as they go. 

"If you don't slow down, we'll end up in the Shire," Dean teases.

"Ah, you’ve discovered my plan," Cas jokes. "I wish to squeeze into a Hobbit hole with you and live out the rest of our day—mmph!"

Before he can finish his sentence, Dean plants his feet firmly in the snow and pulls on Castiel's arm, turning the elf to catch him in a surprise kiss. "’Kay," Dean breathes, smiling. "Let's go."

With wide blue eyes, Castiel stumbles back a step, slipping on an unseen patch of ice. He goes down like he's been shot in the chest, falling into the blank snow and dragging Dean with him as his arms pinwheel. Both men groan as they hit the ground, their sounds of distress turning to breathless laughter. Dean, already half draped over Castiel, closes the space between their mouths with a thrilled huff. "You okay?"

"Yes," Cas murmurs, smiling as their lips brush together. "Are you?"

"You should probably kiss me better, just in case."

Rolling them over, Castiel, closes his teeth over the thumb of his mitt to pull it off, warm skin gently tracing the contours of his One's face. "I can do that."

Even with so little time together, he is slow and thorough; slipping off his other mitten to properly cup Dean's face, nipping at his lips and peppering love across his cheeks and nose and closed eyes before returning for a deep kiss. Dean huffs and sighs against his mouth and Castiel commits every sound to memory. "I could kiss you forever," he breathes, pressing their mouths together in lazy, plush demonstrations of affection. 

Dean's grin makes it impossible to continue, and the human reaches down, shedding his own gloves to tuck dark brown hair behind Cas's pointed right ear. His fingers linger, tracing the shape of it. "You won't hear me complaining."

Castiel's grin is stretched so wide, his teeth begin to hurt from the cold. "You should tell me about your adventures," he murmurs, reaching up to melt the snowflakes on his One's cheek. "Where did you go? What was it like?"

"You jealous, Cas?" Dean teases. 

"Very much so. Doubly jealous, in fact: that you got to see a little bit of the outside world and that I was not with you."

Blotches of red rise to warm freckled cheeks, and the human bites his lip, leaning in to nudge their noses. “Maybe you should kiss me again, first.”

Castiel happily obliges.

 

~ * ~

 

“Was the hunting good, Castiel?”

Cas looks up from his broth soup, catching Dean’s eye before turning to his newest suitor Arariel, with a polite smile. Hunting was not very successful, no… mostly because instead of looking for game, he and Dean had used the forest as a place to kiss in private. “Unfortunately no,” the elf says. “We were unable to venture far enough due to the time constraint.”

“Pity,” Michael murmurs. “Had you brought something, I’m sure Anael and Gabriel would have accepted our supper invitation.”

Cas forces a smile. “Next time.”

“I would greatly enjoy joining you,” Arariel says. “I’m told I’m fair with a bow.”

Michael smiles. “As is my brother. He’s very skilled; aren’t you, Castiel?”

“So I’ve been told.”

There’s a lull in conversation, during which Cas makes a point to catch Sam’s eye and give an encouraging grin. His youngest charge had inspection today, and while Castiel is confident in _Esseru_ ’s abilities, he knows he had been nervous. Sam smiles back and motions to Dean, to which Cas shakes his head: _no, I haven’t told Dean about the inspection. I assumed you would want to break the good news._

“Perhaps Arariel would enjoy hunting tomorrow?” Michael says suddenly, interrupting Sam and Castiel’s silent conversation. While Dean and Arariel appear to be amused, the High Elf is significantly less so.

“Certainly,” Cas says, gallant. “Perhaps _Imlad_ and _Esseru_ may meet us after both are finished their duties. It would be nice to go all together.”

“Of course,” Arariel interjects. “Hunting with your family sounds lovely.”

Cas nods. “I agree. After midday, maybe? Sam, I know you need to—”

“Unfortunately,” Michael interrupts. “ _Esseru_ has lessons until dusk tomorrow.”

Arariel frowns. “But surely they can be moved?”

Michael sighs. “For you, my Lady, of course… but there is then the fact that _Imlad_ is leaving at dawn.”

Castiel’s heart stops. Leaving. Dean is leaving again. He’s being sent away. He only arrived this morning—they’ve only managed something like fifty kisses—and he’s being taken away _again_. Cas can barely hear Arariel’s ‘ _Leaving? What for?_ ’ above the rush of blood in his ears and the thickness of his swallow. He looks to his plate immediately in an attempt to keep himself centered. When did Michael decide this? Why?

“Our brave _Imlad_ has been selected for the new scouting team I’ve put in place. Winter is a dangerous time for us, you know; the extra security is greatly appreciated.”

“Then this is a great honour, _Imlad_ ,” Arariel says solemnly.

“Yeah…” Dean sounds dazed when he replies. “How long? How long will I, um…”

“A fortnight, most likely. Perhaps a moon’s turn.”

The why of it is so redundant Cas wants to simultaneously scream and fall at his brother’s feet. He knows exactly why this is happening, it’s plain in the tense line of Michael’s shoulders and the authoritative swish of his hand.

And they are powerless to stop it.

Supper finishes in silence, with Dean whisked away to his room by guards and Sam following moments after. Castiel is forced to sit for much longer, shivering in his snow-soaked clothes as he struggles to stay represent and alert. It feels like hours before he is finally given an escort back to his rooms.

His training clothes land on his floor in a soggy lump as he makes his way to the bed. With a bitten lip, the elf blinks rapidly to dispel his tears, stripping completely before sitting, nude, on the edge of his soft mattress. Cas shivers in the dim, resting elbows on his knees and pressing the heels on his palms into his eyes before taking a shaky breath.

 _Eru_ , he’s tired. He's certain he's caught the beginnings of a chill which, coupled with the fact that the temperature has dropped dramatically outside, means he won't be able to visit his One, and his hair is a mess and his heart hurts. Above all, his heart hurts. 

Dean will leave before sunrise tomorrow for who knows how long, and Castiel will not have kissed him goodbye. 

The mere thought is enough the send a fresh batch of tears to blue eyes.

Cas allows them to fall as he shuffles to his wardrobe, slipping on a shift. He knows he should think of something—figure out some way to see Dean before morning, but the elf is honestly at a loss. Besides, should he even be visiting if Dean is going to be gone so often? Shouldn't his One save his strength? What good would a distraction do other than to harm him further in the long run? 

Should they even continue this thing between them if it's turning into something so painful? 

Wiping at his face in frustration, Castiel falls onto his bed and scrunches up his face in an effort to control himself. There is no point in crying; Dean will be back eventually. He is not hurt or dead or gone. This is a temporary arrangement. 

They can speak about their future together when he's next home.

"...Castiel?"

Quickly, Cas pushes himself onto his elbows, his brow smoothing when Hannah enters the dim room. She looks at the pile of clothing and the elf shivering on the bed with a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry," she says quietly. 

Castiel shrugs. "You were right," he murmurs. "I wasn't paying attention and he has a good strategy. I should have been convincing him I do not care for the Winchesters rather than proving my affections for them. This is what happens to fools in love."

"But he'll be back," Hannah says, sitting beside him. She carefully touches his shoulder. 

"I know," Cas breathes. "I do know that. I just—"

"It hurts," she replies. "I understand. Your siblings—Anael and Gabriel—they wished to come to you, but they're speaking with his Lordship."

Cas gives a watery, humourless smile. "Nothing they say will change his mind."

"Perhaps not," Hannah allows. "But perhaps it might. Speaking of—" the elder elf smiles and reaches into her apron, tugging out a piece of parchment. "Sam managed to slip it to me in the kitchens."

"Sam…?" Castiel trails off. He grasps the letter in hand. "He got to say goodbye."

"Apparently."

Delicately, Cas opens the folded parchment to reveal Dean's gorgeous, neat penmanship below. It's written in Sindarin, a singular line of text on an empty page, simply reading:

_ Na lû e-govaned vîn. _

It makes Castiel's heart sing. Quickly getting up in search of a quill, the elf grabs a piece of parchment from his own desk and scrawls his response:

_ Guren níniatha n'i lû n'i a-govenitham. _

Quickly folding up the message, Cas whirls around before pausing, wholly stopped. "Hannah," he says sheepishly. "Is there any way—?"

"Once," she replies. "I'll only be allowed in once. Is that all you're going to write?"

Cas frowns. "Yes? Is there something else I should say?"

A shrug. "If you've Bonded with this human, I merely thought you would say something more meaningful to him. More romantic."

“We’re not Bonded.”

Hannah frowns. “You’re… not?”

“No. We’re—that is, we’ve decided to—though, I supposed decide isn’t the proper term, really, we’re simply—” Clearing his throat, Castiel looks up in an attempt to cool his heated cheeks. “We’re engaging with humanity’s rules.”

Now, Hannah’s head cocks to the side. “And what are those?”

“We’re not Bonded,” Cas tries to explain. “We’re simply… courting. Physically. And emotionally. Together.”

A raised brow. “So… I’m to understand that you’re a Bonded pair in all but name?”

Castiel pauses. “No,” he frowns. “No, we’re… we’re simply…”

“Alright,” Hannah interrupts kindly, though it’s clear she doesn’t completely understand. Smiling, she looks to the letter. “I should go.”

"Wait! Please. Would you be able to give him something else?"

Hannah smiles softly. "Of course, Castiel. Anything." 

Clearing his throat in embarrassment, Cas approaches his friend with extreme caution, colour rising high on his cheeks. "Um, if I were to kiss you—on the cheek!" He hastens to explain at Hannah's wide eyes. "On the cheek. Would you...?"

Blushing furiously, Hannah turns her head in expectation and gives a small nod. Castiel all but slumps in his relief. Leaning in, the elf presses his lips lightly to the other's cheek, eyes slipping shut as he imagines stubble in the place of babe-soft skin. 

"Tell him to be safe, won't you?" he asks, nervous as he pulls away. Hannah's eyes are a deep, sympathetic blue.

"Of course, Castiel.”

 

~ * ~

 

Michael has arranged the patrols such that Dean comes back for a night and is forced to leave soon after, pushing his human body to its limits until he either falls ill or dies of exhaustion. It’s a brilliant tactic—one he cannot be blamed for, as Castiel has always been adamant that humans and elves are the same—and so Cas is powerless to oppose it. Dean, also, can do nothing in retaliation without being seen as treasonous.

So the torch is passed to Sam.

This is not done intentionally. Rather, ever since he and Dean’s forced separation, the youngest Winchester has simply gone out of his way to be especially irritating towards Rivendell’s Lord. Sam has taken up speaking in riddles and being overly polite, spending all his time in the library in order to learn as much as possible; during one memorable supper he off-handedly corrected Michael with regards to the Dwarvish Peace Treaties, all the while speaking Sindarin.

Sam Winchester argues against his Lord’s speciesist mentalities and asks Anna to bring less biased books from her travels. He retires late and wakes early, and sees Castiel only at mealtimes or when the elf seeks him out.

He is brilliant, and Cas is incredibly proud of him… but the elf worries. He begins to go out of way to drag his charge out of doors either to hunt or go for walks in his spare moments.

Meanwhile, Castiel is forced to interact with suitors. Warriors, diplomats, scholars, lords and ladies, those with no title but great skill… all these travel from far and wide in an attempt to win his hand. It’s ridiculous; a custom more suited to human fairytales than an elvish lord, but Cas smiles politely and bears the attentions bestowed upon him with grace and poise. He shows his potential Bondmates the winter gardens and the kitchens, and if most are not put off by his kindness towards servants and affection for Sam (usually demonstrated with a friendly kiss to his hair and an inquiry as to his research), then they are dismissed after Michael sees his brother has made a good effort.

In all of this, Castiel continues to hold a candle for Dean.

The first time _Imlad_ returns, it takes all of Cas’s willpower not to tackle him to the ground and kiss him. As it is, he is extremely fortunate that his suitor left earlier in the evening and he is able to greet Dean at the stables. From there, the elf uses his newfound knowledge of nooks and crannies to pull and push his One into places they can kiss without being seen.

“Guess you’ve been busy, huh?” Dean teases as they slip into a long-abandoned evacuation tunnel. His clothes are inflexible with ice and snow and Castiel presses them together despite his lighter cloak, shrugging.

“If you’re accusing me of finding places we can kiss while you were gone,” Cas breathes, nipping playfully at his _Imlad_ ’s plump bottom lip. “…Then you would be absolutely right. Of course, from a historical perspective, it’s amazing that these still exist at all—mmh!”

They make time for physical intimacy where they can.

Sex has been removed from the table for the time being—barring one instance where the pair had worked themselves into such a frenzy in a hidden corner of the library, they’d both climaxed in their respective garments. Sharing a bed, too, is off limits, though they cuddled together in dank corners and the cold spaces of the forest. It was almost like a game when it first started.

But Dean was only human, and he needed rest. After about a month and a half into their new routine, _Imlad_ began to fall asleep during their sporadic kissing opportunities, and would refuse supper on the grounds of being exhausted. He worried both Cas and Sam until their stomachs twist with anxiety, but insisted he was fine.

Despite his bone-aching exhaustion, Dean always wrote a love note before he left; nothing more than a line and sometimes accompanied by a sweet kiss, the pair exchanged small squares of paper to keep nearby while the other was away. The little messages ranged from risqué promises to heartfelt ones, from well-wishes to safe-wishes to warm farewells and think-of-mes.

And then it happens.

Castiel is spending yet another boring afternoon in one of sitting rooms with his latest suitor, fidgeting as the other elf—Munkar, or Maleeha, Cas can’t remember his name—attempts to speak to him about art. Cas has been feeling nervous and itchy for the past two days, uncomfortable in a way that makes him want to crawl out of skin, and focusing on anything has been a challenge. Perhaps it is his lack of concentration that allows him to hear the commotion from the main doors, his suitor most definitely doesn’t seem to.

Or perhaps it’s that, somehow, Castiel knows the noise has to do with Dean.

He’s standing before he even remembers doing so, looking towards the hall with a bitten lip and furrowed brow as he steps in the direction of—

“…Castiel?”

But something tugs at Cas’s heart painfully, and the elf leaves without replying.

In the hallway, and stretched across a crude contraption made of wood and rope, his One is still, swaddled in furs as ice melts on his cheeks. Still, his face is not flushed—instead, freckled skin has taken on an ashen quality, his lips almost as pale as the tip of his nose. He looks… for all intents and purposes, he appears to be…

“No,” Castiel breathes, horrified. “Nononono _no_. Dean? De—” The other half of _Imlad_ ’s name is caught on the beginning of a sob as Cas falls to his knees, hands shaking as he pushes back the hat and furs and clothing until he can press his ear to his One’s chest. The heartbeat he finds is faint, but Castiel is not reassured. “Wake up, Dean,” he mutters, eyeing his human’s unnaturally hot skin with unabashed panic. “Dean, wake up. _Wake up!_ ”

No amount of shaking helps.

No amount of touching.

And a faerie story kiss-on-the-mouth does _nothing_.

Blood rushes in Cas’s ears and adrenaline makes his hands shake and he removes Dean’s mittens and threads their fingers together and murmurs healing incantations but there is nothing, nothing helps, and there is so much pain and grief Castiel is wholly unaware of the promises and pleas and declarations tumbling from his mouth but he’s terrified so terrified he can’t breathe and then there are voices and hands and people _pulling at them_ and Cas tries to push away but can’t a-and—

“Castiel, _calm down_!”

Everything is sharp again.

He sees Anna and Hannah trying to pull him away from his mate, their eyes big and pleading as Gabriel steps forward to tend to Dean. Sam is standing nearby in shock, his eyes watering and fists white and body frozen solid. The warriors who’d been on patrol gather around, along with other elves drawn to the noise. Their faces are a mix of pity and disgust.

Castiel’s suitor appears to be horrified.

“Why didn’t you catch this sooner?” Gabriel is demanding. “Why didn’t you care for him in the field?”

“We didn’t know, ser. He seemed fine until he collapsed—”

“What have you given him?”

“Nothing, we brought nothing—”

“Fucking _useless_ ,” Gabriel spits. “Don’t you know they’re not like us?! They’re fragile— _fuck_. Take him to the infirmary _now_ —”

“Gabriel, what is the meaning of this?”

Both Castiel and Sam go rigid, and despite the hands that tighten on Cas’s arms, the elf pulls away to stand with his charge, chin tilted up to reveal tear-stained cheeks. _Esseru_ turns and, despite being of a height, hugs him like when he was small. Michael sniffs at this, though his eyes go wide when he sees Dean laying prone on the floor.

“What happened?” Though his concern is plain, it’s clinical and unfeeling; interest over regard.

Gabriel scoffs and bends until he manages to heave Dean until his arms. “Congratulations,” he says, plain. “Are you satisfied?” 

Castiel’s heart breaks and he feels Sam’s breath skip painfully. It takes everything he has to hold his charge and keep himself still. It takes everything for him not to give himself away. He can’t. He won’t. If Sam is insolent he will be punished, and if Cas steps out of line he puts everyone who has helped them at risk. Physical contact with _Esseru_ is already pushing his brother’s limits, if the sneer on his lips is anything to go by.

“Castiel,” he hisses in warning.

But Cas only holds Sam more tightly. “If you’ll excuse us,” he replies by rote. “We have a need to collect flowers.”

“You’re not even certain he’ll survive the night!”

Sam rips out of Castiel’s arms. “He’s alive _now_!”

Michael seems to consider this for a moment before clearly deciding that dipping his head is the best course of action. “…Indeed.”

Sam and Castiel put on cloaks and go outside.

Sam chooses a winter rose and leaves to be with his brother as soon as he can, something Cas cannot blame him for. Personally, the elf is unsure why he doesn’t do the same, but Castiel spends the rest of the afternoon walking through the snow. Even after he’s chosen his bloom—snowdrop, to symbolize hope—he stays outside, fidgeting.

He should have put his foot down.

He should have told Dean not to go.

He should have stood up to his brother.

Is Dean even still alive?

It’s dark by the time Castiel enters the infirmary, candles burning low in the small room. As expected after Cas’s earlier displays of physical affection, Dean has received only a handful of flowers.

“ _Really?_ I only just managed to kick Sam out.”

Castiel turns at Gabriel’s voice, the snowdrop clenched tightly in his fist as tears spring to his eyes again. At this point, he isn’t even certain why he’s crying; if Gabriel is feeling up to teasing, Dean is fine. Will be fine. Still…

“Hey,” Gabriel murmurs, moving to wrap him in a hug. “Heyhey, what’s wrong, Cas? Look, he’s fine. He’s gonna be okay. He’s exhausted, that’s all. He got sick. But I’m pretty sure his fever is gonna break soon, and then you can go back to fucking each other in all the dusty corners you can find.”

Castiel’s cheeks flare red. “ _Gabriel_ ,” he chides, though his lips upturn in a smile.

“What? Got you to smile didn’t I?” A beat. “How about you say your hellos and then we can talk? I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

Cas bites his lip at this, guilty as he looks down at his flower. He nods. "I'm sorry."

“Cas, I wasn't looking for an apology," Gabriel says kindly. "Just... go, okay? I’ll fill you in on his condition after.”

Castiel’s feet feel like lead as he takes shuffles to his One, carefully touching the clasped hands on Dean's chest with a shaky breath. Cas slips the snowdrop between his _Imlad_ ’s fingers and thumbs a freckled cheekbone. He chews his lip at the flush of the other’s skin. Dean’s pallid complexion has regained some of its colour—it’s no longer sallow and waxy—but he’s burning up.

Cas’s hair forms a curtain as he leans down to press a sweet kiss to his One’s feverish lips.

“Wake up,” he pleads, like this is some faerie story gone wrong; like Dean has eaten of the poisoned apple or pricked his finger and the magyck is too strong. Like maybe Cas isn’t his True Love after all. “Please, _mel hûn_. _Please_.”

Castiel touches the little braid buried in Dean’s hair just to ensure its continued presence.

Nothing.

When the elf finally rights himself, he sees Gabriel with his back turned, grinding something to paste in a mortar and pestle. He appreciates the privacy. “I’m done,” Cas mumbles wetly. He sniffles. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Cas, you should eat something. They brought my supper—”

“I’m not hungry.”

“ _Castiel_ —”

“Just tell me what’s wrong with him, Gabriel!”

“Only if you promise to eat something. We can share my food.”

“Fine. Tell me.”

Gabriel eyes him with unabashed suspicion for a moment before shaking his head. “Sit down, you can eat while I explain.”

Cas’s entire body is taut as a strung bow, his fists clenched at his sides as he grits his teeth. His stomach is roiling in protest, but the elf gives a jerking nod, violently grabbing a stool and seating himself near the covered dish. He all but knocks the lid off Gabriel plate before stabbing a myriad of snow peas and shoving them into his mouth. “ _Explain_ ,” he growls, mouth full.

Gabriel sighs. “Dean fell ill because he was exhausted. He hasn’t been sleeping, he hasn’t been eating, and he’s been pushing himself to his limits until his body could no longer function while conscious. Not impossible to fix, but the fever does pose a problem. I think it’ll break in a couple of hours though.” Reaching for a basket of what appears to be snow, Gabriel packs a handful of the white stuff into a towel and offers it in the space between them. “Try and cool him down. I need this to be on his forehead and face, and I’ll give you three cold towels for the back of his neck and insides of his wrists.”

Cas swallows and moves to do as asked. “But he’ll be okay?”

“If we can break his fever by dawn.”

Right. Castiel forces himself to nod. Right. “What about an ice bath?”

“I tried that,” Gabriel mutters. “Hannah and Anna helped—they send their regards, by the way, but I sent them to care for Sam—it did well against the fever but didn’t break it. And he was already so cold, I didn’t want to leave him in for too long. It might be a good idea to try again though.”

Swallowing thickly, Cas moves the snow-filled compress across Dean’s face, wetting his forehead and cheeks and nose. “Whatever it takes,” he murmurs fiercely. “I’m at your disposal.”

Gabriel pauses and looks over his shoulder. His eyes are big and sad. “I know you are, Cas,” he replies. “I know.”

 

~ * ~

 

Dean’s fever breaks at three o’clock in the morning because he’s thrown into an ice bath.

The human gasps against the cold and his green eyes fly open, limbs flailing in the glacial water. He hacks a choking cough, grasping at the edge of the basin with a cry. “S-Sam?” he chatters. “C-Cas?” He’s delirious, still, but his words are strung together more coherently than when he began speaking an hour ago.

He stays in the bath for ten minutes before they pull him out.

Dean mumbles drowsy nonsense to himself as Castiel helps change him into something dry and warm. He doesn’t miss the smirk he receives when it’s made clear Cas has seen his One’s bare skin before. Gabriel has Castiel give him some sort of disgusting-smelling concoction and then chases it down with multiple glasses of water before the Healer feels it safe enough to leave and find something more to eat, for both caretakers and patient.

The moment he’s gone, Cas strips to his shift and slips under the covers to pull his shivering _Imlad_ to his chest. Castiel rubs warmth into Dean’s skin and presses his bare flesh to wherever he can reach: face, neck, back, arms, legs… all the while murmuring useless incantations into the small space between them. Once Dean begins to warm, blue eyes begin droop with exhaustion, lulled to sleep by relief and exhaustion and having his One safe and alive and close.

Finally, Cas sleeps.

 

~ * ~

 

There is something tickling his nose.

Scrunching up his face as if to prepare for a sneeze, Castiel squeezes his eyes shut and groans, burying himself further into the warmth of the body beside him. Dean’s body. Dean, who is alive, and awake, and running his fingertip along the bridge of Cas’s nose. The elf squeezes his One more tightly in his embrace, lips turning up as a huffed laugh puffs against his mouth.

“You gonna open those pretty eyes? Or do I have to kiss you?”

Dean’s voice is scratchy and thick, like he’s congested, and Castiel wordlessly purses his lips. He must look ridiculous, but this is part of the goal; for _Imlad_ to laugh. And he does… until the sound turns to wet, wheezing coughs that force blue eyes to open in concern.

“Damn,” Dean curses, recovering with a heavy sigh. He falls back against the pillows with a groan. “Wanted to go all Knight in Shining Armor on you.”

Cas cannot stop himself from touching Dean’s face. “I could close my eyes again,” he murmurs. Without waiting for a response, he does just that.

Dean’s kiss is soft and painfully lovely.

Castiel’s eyes flutter open as his One begins to pull away, and quickly moves his long fingers to tangle in lighter hair. “My hero,” the elf breathes through a smile, his expression mirrored in the face looking back at him. Cas pushes Dean against the pillows and slides their lips together again.

 _Eru_ , it feels so incredible to kiss him again.

It’s like his chest has cracked open and light is spilling through, like his love is a tangible, warm thing that can be felt as easily as holding a flower in his fingers. Like he is able to reach past his ribs and pluck his heart from its cage, offering it up to the man currently panting under his mouth.

Dean’s arms are heavy as they move to wrap around Cas’s shoulders, his lips plush as he parts them to make way for his tongue. The human licks at his One’s bottom lip in a way that has Castiel sighing in contentment, and the elf nips at his Lifepartner for his effort. Dean grins.

“Well!” Gabriel’s voice is loud and jarring and immediately has the pair jumping apart, blushy and nervous as the elder elf claps his hands once and loudly. An infuriating smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Guess you’re feeling better, Dean-O.”

 _Imlad_ clears his throat and gives a quick nod. Cas buries his face in Dean’s neck.

“Aww,” Gabriel teases. “Aren’t you two adorable?”

Though Dean mutters a small _shut up_ , the words have no real bite to them. They can’t, when he’s kissing Castiel’s hair and smiling as he says them. Still red-faced, Cas shifts to press his mouth to a freckled cheek and drapes his left arm around Dean’s chest. It’s a mock-hug, and Gabriel raises an amused brow, the thing almost caught in his hairline when _Imlad_ moves to thread their fingers together. The human then presses love into each of Castiel’s knuckles.

Cas, of his part, can barely breathe.

He bites his lip to curb his smile, an effort that is wasted when Dean reaches forward to brush the corner of his mouth. In response, the elf gives a happy little hum, shrugging bashfully for some reason he doesn’t understand. His face is bright red, but not even Gabriel’s loud, obvious cough can force his eyes away from Dean.

Dean, who is gently rubbing his freckled thumb over Cas’s knuckles.

“No sex until he’s fully recovered.”

Castiel almost chokes. “ _Gabriel!_ ”

 

~ * ~

 

The arrangement is as follows: no oral sex, no frottage, nothing penetrative or non-penetrative during recovery. Kissing and touching is allowed as long as there is no physical exertion in any way shape or form… Cas himself should be keeping away due to the likely contagious nature of Dean’s cough, but as Gabriel found them kissing, he immediately declared them a lost cause and told them to pray to _Eru_ that Castiel doesn’t fall ill.

Contact should still be enjoyed sparingly, however, as it seems to “work both of you up like nothing I’ve ever seen”.

In terms of the daily routine, Dean is to stay in the infirmary as long as Gabriel can keep him there—if only to allow _Imlad_ the opportunity to see Castiel and Sam regularly. Cas has been given permission to spend nights with his One on the condition that he spends his days doing everything in his power to placate his Lordship, including playing nice with his suitors. Gabriel, meanwhile, has written a formal letter ordering that Dean remain in _Imladris_ for the rest of the season. In response to Dean’s query regarding Cas’s safety in all of this (concerning guards especially), Gabriel vowed he’d take care of it.

Not that that matters at present.

“ _Fuck_ , I missed you so much.”

“Mmm.”

Totally entangled, Dean and Cas are possibly breaking a whole slew of the rules they were left with.

The pair gasp and groan into their shared space, Castiel draped over his Bondmate in an attempt to keep him from exerting himself too much… unfortunately, the way their clothes have been rucked up does nothing to slow the human’s heartbeat. “ _Oh_ , just like that, sweetheart. Cas…”

“We really shouldn’t be doing this,” Castiel pants through a smile. He dips to press his mouth to Dean’s neck, sucking and biting and kissing until he’s certain there’s a mark, before his _Imlad_ can reply. They’re not doing anything over-strenuous—rutting a little, and kissing, but they still have their undergarments on and they haven’t disrobed. The kissing simply… got out of hand. 

It wouldn’t have, if they had seen each other more regularly in the past weeks; if Dean hadn’t almost died. Really, Cas thinks they should be congratulated on their restraint.

With renewed vigor, Castiel kisses his Bondmate to near-bruising, easily manhandling Dean’s weakened body until they lay on their sides, face-to-face. His One’s mouth, enthusiastic against his own, soon turns slack with the need to catch his breath. The kiss falls apart gracelessly, Dean’s cheeks flushing as his chest rises and falls in quick, fast breaths. “Sorry.”

Cas frowns, moving in to press his lips to his human’s fuzzy jaw. “What for?”

“Can’t keep up,” Dean grumbles, turning his face in search of a real kiss.

Castiel feels warmth rush to his own cheeks in response. “It’s not your fault,” he murmurs. “I should curb my enthusiasm.”

“Uh uh.” Dean shakes his head through a smirk. “C’mere.”

Cas grins and attacks again… only to be weakly pushed away in time for _Imlad_ to cough. Wetly. The human settles back against in pillows immediately after closing his eyes in discomfort before taking a breath and forcing himself up again, hand sliding over the nape of Castiel’s neck. The elf’s nose wrinkles and he quickly pecks his One’s cheek, grinning when the other groans.

“Nonono,” Dean exclaims. “Come back!” _Imlad_ reaches for him as Cas dances out of his grip and off the bed, gathering an array of bottles and products from the shelves of herbs and potions that lines the walls of the room. He picks up a cup and jumps back into bed.

Dean groans in pain when Castiel lands on his legs.

“Sorry,” Cas apologizes, kissing his One on the tip of his nose for good measure. He smiles as Dean’s fingers trace over his arms and grip his hips as he mixes, his human complaining and proclaiming his wellness loudly between sneezes and coughs. _Imlad_ grimaces when Cas offers the fruits of his labour: a cup of disgusting-smelling brown liquid.

“No way.”

“Dean—” 

“Cas, I’m _fine_ , okay? I—"

Castiel presses his index finger to the other’s lips. “If you’re planning on finishing that sentence with something resembling: _I’m not sick, Cas_ , I am going to kindly remind you that you have both coughed and sneezed in my face. So.” Resettling, Cas holds the cup up in time with his raised brow. “For the cough and congestion: thyme, peppermint, and root of althaea officinalis… and I have lemon and honey to wash it down.”

Grumbling, Dean narrows his eyes but leans forward to be fed. “I _was_ gonna say, _I’m not sick, Cas, darling and light of my life_ , but _fine_.”

Cas grins and raises the goblet to his One’s lips. “Thank you, Dean, heart of mine.”

Despite his glare, _Imlad_ drinks it all.

Sam visits while Castiel is in the midst of kissing lemon and honey from Dean’s mouth.

“Sammy!” Dean exclaims, quickly pulling away. “Hey! Hey, how-how are you?” He wipes his kiss-swollen mouth, heart pounding a mile a minute under Cas’s hand as the elf sheepishly smiles at his youngest charge, moving off of his One as he delicately clears his throat.

“Hello, Sam.”

Despite his face flushing red as a tomato, _Esseru_ grins. “Should I come back later?”

“No! No,” Dean stutters. “We were just…”

“I kinda figured out what you were doing,” Sam smirks. He fidgets in place, hand obsessively smoothing over his robe as he bites his lip. Hazel eyes quickly fill with tears. “So, you’re… okay?” he asks, mouth tugging up in a watery grin. “You’re gonna stay alive and kiss Cas until your lips fall off?”

“Yeah,” Dean replies quietly, his hand inches down the bed until he and Cas’s fingers are entwined. The latter’s heart all but melts. “Something like that.”

In the blink of an eye, Sam has thrown himself at his brother, burying his face in Dean’s neck while the other clutches to him tightly with his free arm, other hand clenching Castiel’s. The elf is suddenly struck by how lucky he is: his siblings, his friends, Sam and Dean… he has the most loving, amazing family he could ever ask for.

“Sam, have you eaten?” Cas asks. He stands and leans down to press a quick kiss to Dean’s hair, hand moving to touch _Esseru_ ’s shoulder. “I was just about to get us some food.” 

 _Imlad_ mouths his thanks for the privacy as Sam shakes his head, and Castiel takes his leave, heading for the kitchen. He has people of his own to thank.

 

~ * ~

 

“I should go… if I don’t make an appearance at least once today, Michael will have my head.”

They’re relaxing in the small infirmary bed; Sam gone to one of his lessons while Castiel continues to shirk his duties. Dean groans into Cas’s neck. “Do you have to?”

“I wish I didn’t. But I’ll be back as soon as I’m able. Maybe not for supper… but after. Most definitely, after.” A smile. “I will not miss my opportunity to sleep with you.”

Dean smirks and re-adjusts until they’re practically nose-to-nose, wriggling his eyebrows lewdly as he licks his lips. “Oh boy, am I looking forward to that.”

Cas’s smile widens until his cheeks hurt, and though he understands exactly what Dean means, the elf feels his expression soften into something more fragile. They’re so close, pressed together like this, and _Imlad_ is warm and alive and—

Castiel swallows thickly as he blinks in an attempt to control himself, fingers moving to trace the bow of his One’s mouth. “You scared me, last night,” he murmurs. “I thought…” A breath. “You weren’t moving and you wouldn’t wake up, and I just—” Cas chews his lips, looking up as a tear rolls down his temple. Blue eyes suddenly turn wide with panic. “I made a spectacle of myself,” he breathes. “Dean, the moment you came inside I kissed you in front of everybody—”

“Michael?” the human asks.

“No. But your scouting team, and my suitor—I can’t remember his name—he saw.” Clenching his jaw, Castiel pulls away from his One, moving to sit as he fists his hand in his hair. “ _Eru_ , what have I done?”

“Cas, it’s okay—”

“It’s not!” the elf retorts. He feels as if something is pressing down on his chest, panic crawling up his throat and impeding his breath. “Just because Michael has not been told yet does not mean he’ll be kept in the dark forever. This is—I’m such an idiot! I was desperate and scared and—”

“ _Cas_ —”

“What kind of grown elf believes in faerie stories, anyway?” he continues rhetorically.

“Hey,” Dean murmurs. He quickly diverts Castiel’s attention to their suddenly joined hands, thumb moving in slow circles over his elf’s knuckle. He’s hesitant now that Cas is listening intently, green eyes flitting down to watch their fingers as he clears his throat. “D’you ever think of, um, a place?”

“A place?” Castiel echoes, confused. He’s slightly out of breath, but the random and abrupt change in topic is doing wonders for his nerves. Carefully, Cas reaches his free hand forward to tilt Dean’s chin, forcing eye-contact. “ _Mel hûn,_ what kind of place?”

“Just like… a place,” Dean mumbles, cheeks flaring to the tips of his ears. “Y’know, where, uh… where we could just kinda lay down, um, next to each other, and talk and stuff, and, ah, where we’d have our own room or whatever—just the two of us, and then a library for Sammy, and a huge garden and… and, no one would bother us, and we’d get to, um, kiss each other a lot. A place like that.”

It starts as an ember inside the chambers of his heart, warmth growing and growing until Cas feels as if he’s glowing by the time his One has finished speaking. “I dream about that place, Dean,” the elf confesses quietly. “All the time.”

 _Imlad_ ’s lips quirk up in a relieved, joyous little display of affection. “Yeah?”

“Of course. “ Castiel leans forward, punctuating his words with a lush kiss. Nervously, his heart begins to jump around in his chest. “What I feel for you—that is to say, how you make me feel is, ah— _Eru,_ I care for you very much.”

“Yeah?” _Imlad_ ’s voice is expectant, his eyes big and dark green as they stare at each other, Cas’s mouth hanging open uselessly between them. He knows what he wants to say—what he wants to confess, and what’s more, he’s fairly certain Dean will reciprocate… but for some reason, he can’t seem to get the words out. Whether it’s fear, or anxiety, or simply the fact that what he feels is far too large to be encompassed in three little words, Castiel can’t seem to speak.

“I care for you, too,” _Imlad_ murmurs, tugging Cas back towards the pillows. “Just for the record.” The elf follows easily, settling on Dean’s chest as a hand runs through dark drown hair. “I, um.” A thick swallow. “I’d die for you, actually.”

Breath whooshes out of Castiel’s chest in what he is mortified to find sounds like a whimper. “Please, don’t speak like that.”

“Why?” _Imlad_ is smiling, Cas can hear it. In the silent moments that follow, the human finds his braid in his elf’s hair and lavishes it with attention. “Believing in faerie stories isn’t a bad thing, Cas. Not when those stories give you something to believe in in the first place.”

Castiel bites his lip, baby blues sliding up to meet green. “When did you become so wise?”

“Ah, you know,” Dean sighs arrogantly, free hand waving in a non-committal gesture. “You go out into the big bad world…”

A grin. “Really? All that from scouting?”

“Yep.” A sage nod. “You wouldn’t believe the things I had to fight out there. Pretty impressive; I’ve basically lived as much as you at this point.”

“Oh, I heard: weathering storms, hunting game, keeping camp safe from scavengers… scouting counts for at least five times the life experience.”

“If not six,” Dean agrees. “I’m actually older than you, now.”

“Hm.” Castiel tugs him down for a kiss.

“ _And_ ,” Dean continues as he pulls away, moving to playfully bump their noses together. “’Cause I’m so wise, you should do everything I say.”

“Really.”

“Definitely. Like… you shouldn’t go see Michael-The-Assbutt, and you should kiss me until we get hungry. Then we should eat together and kiss until morning.”

“And what about sleep?”

“No sleep,” Dean says firmly. “We’ve spent too many hours apart to waste the ones we have on dreams.”

Castiel raises a brow to hide the fact that he’s melting like spring snow. His hand trembles in the wake of _Imlad_ ’s sweetness, thumb moving to press down on the swell of the other’s bottom lip. “You only want to kiss?” he asks breathlessly.

“Well,” Dean smiles broadly. “If one thing leads to another…”

The elf bites his lip as a hand slides down to comfortably rest on his backside. Falling once again into his One’s chest, Castiel groans in frustration. “You make a very compelling argument.”

“I know I do,” Dean smirks. “So...?”

“Stop seducing me,” Cas mumbles into the other’s clothing.

“You seduced me first!”

When Castiel finally walks down the hallway and towards his rooms, it’s with a spring in his step and a smile on his face. He keeps his eyes towards the floor, carefully ignoring the looks people give his rumpled appearance and kiss-swollen mouth. He’s far too happy to care what they think of him.

_Hey Elf-Boy, don’t miss me too much._

_Impossible._

_Guess we have that in common._

Cas feels his cheeks ache at the memory.

 

~ * ~

 

Supper with Michael is uneventful. Sam and Gabriel are permitted to eat with Dean, and the suitor that had been attempting to woo Castiel yesterday has left, leaving Michael, Cas and Anna at the table. While His Lordship attempts to keep his siblings for as long as possible, Castiel finishes his meal in record time and begs off by claiming he has a stomachache.

He then slips into his rooms, packs a satchel for the night and next morning, and slings the article over his shoulder before making his way towards the infirmary. Cas has absolutely no idea how Gabriel (and, most likely, Anna) managed it, but Balthazar is the only one outside his door. The latter elf gives Castiel a wink and Cas smiles back.

He spends the next half hour in friendly conversation with Dean, Sam and Gabriel, before the Healer cites _Imlad_ ’s condition as an excuse for bedtime. After saying their goodnights, Dean and Castiel are left to their own devices.

“So,” _Imlad_ says, toes curling under the covers. He gives a sweetly awkward smile, suddenly shy in the dim lighting of the infirmary. That sort of thrilled hesitance is something Cas wholeheartedly reciprocates—odd, considering they’ve known each other for years—but there’s something to the fact that they haven’t shared a bed in so long, and are so completely and abruptly alone.

“So,” Cas replies, carefully stepping forward. Hands clasped behind his back, the elf stops before his One and barely keeps himself from rocking back and forth on his feet. “Just—so that you’re aware,” he says to his slippers. “I did miss you.”

Dean’s breath whooshes out of him in a murmur of _c’mere_ , and then they’re kissing.

 _Imlad_ ’s mouth is warm and plush and tastes faintly of tomato soup, his hands anchored on Castiel’s hips as the elf leans over the bed, one knee on the mattress and hands on either side of his human’s head. “You wanna get in here?” Dean mumbles, tugging lightly on Castiel’s robes.

The elf grins into his One’s mouth and nods. “I need to change first.”

“I can definitely help you with that.”

Cas has to turn and pull his hair over his shoulder to reveal the laces at his back, waiting patiently as his One works to free him from the confines of his clothing. Despite the fact that the situation is not ideal—Dean still has a nasty cough and has to take breaks because he tires easily—the deliberate way freckled fingers tug at his laces is… thrilling, if nerve-wracking.

Different, too, from the last time: this is not ripping clothing off of one another in desperation. This is slow. Deliberate. _Imlad_ ’s hands tremble as he picks at the last of the laces before pushing the material off Castiel’s shift-clad shoulders, grunting as he forces himself up to press a kiss to the elf’s back. Everything about this is heavy, and Cas feels his cheeks warm in response.

He is suddenly and inexplicably terrified.

The elf slides off the bed, then, pushing his robe down his body and pulling the shift over his head with fumbling hands, removing his underclothes as he turns around in attempt to be modest. This is, of course, ridiculous: they’ve already seen each other naked. Pushing through his misplaced shyness, Castiel quickly and gracelessly dons a fresh shift and whirls around, relieved beyond belief that Dean’s eyes are trained on that blanket covering his legs.

Cas is going to shake out of his own skin. Why is he acting like this? He knows Dean. He _loves_ Dean.

And, clearly, Dean has sensed his discomfort.

“ _Bainon_?”

How is supposed to act, here? What is he supposed to do? Certainly, they’ve slept in the same bed alone before, but never deliberately like this. They’ve never actually cuddled together, just the two of them, with sleep being the main goal… not since they were both very young.

What if Cas does something wrong?

“I’m, um, decent,” Cas stutters. “I’m decent.”

Every small shift of Dean’s body cries out its awkwardness. “You okay?” he murmurs, concerned.

“Fine,” Castiel replies. Quick and sharp, the answer is obviously automatic.

 _Imlad_ ’s responding smile is forced and cracked. “Why don’t I believe you?”

 _Because I’m lying_ , Cas thinks. He clenches his jaw nervously, for the first time staring at his One and feeling a spike of anxiety. _Eru,_ why is this so nerve-wracking?

This is _Dean_.

They look at each other for a long time, caught in some sort of disturbing, anxiety-fuelled stalemate until Dean moves. At the sound of shuffling sheets, Castiel is immediately snapped out of his thoughts, blue eyes turning wide as he sees his One struggle off the mattress. Immediately, the elf rushes forward to catch him, arriving a hair too late; they both end up on the floor.

Castiel can’t remember to be nervous after that. “Are you _insane_?” he growls. “Look at how weak you are, Dean, you could have seriously injured yourself! As if it wasn’t enough that you came home unconscious, you need to break your leg, too?!”

“If I get to stay in bed with you, then… maybe, yeah.”

Cas freezes, blushing wildly as he stares at his One in shock. Dean, in response, waits for half a moment before his face crumples into an embarrassed grimace. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “That was… bad. Sorry.”

“Did you mean it?”

 _Imlad_ looks up, lost, from where his chin has fallen towards his chest. “A little bit,” he confesses. “I just—are you okay? I want you to be okay.”

Recognizing the non-sequitor for the subject-change it’s meant to be, Castiel heaves a breath, relaxing incrementally from his tensed-up position. Dean has started shivering from being on the cold floor, and the elf carefully wraps his human in his arms, leaning forward until their foreheads are pressed together. “I’m… nervous,” he admits reluctantly. His jaw clenches in embarrassment. “And I don’t know why.”

“Probably ‘cause this is scarier than a pack of rabid orcs.”

A frown. “Aren’t all orcs rabid in one way or another?”

“That’s orcsist.”

“Hm.” There’s a beat during which the pair do nothing but stare before they dissolve into peels of laughter. Dean’s smile is small but radiant as his index finger taps the corner of Castiel’s grinning mouth. “Just to, uh, let you know, though,” the human murmurs seriously. “It’s scary for me, too.”

At that admission, Cas feels the knot in his chest ease, the elf nodding in relief as he wraps his arms more tightly around his One.

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” _Imlad_ states quietly.

They kiss for a long time; after they cramp and have to move to the bed, and past the shedding of their clothes as they tangle to together under the pretense of sharing warmth. Breaths hitch and hands wander, palming the smoothness of freckled shoulders, tracing over the fuzziness of Castiel’s thighs. It only when the elf moves to cup his One’s soft sex that Dean pulls back quickly, cheeks almost glowing in the dim light of the infirmary as he stutters his apologies. “Sorry. It’s not—I just—”

Cas is beyond relieved.

Whether it’s his exhaustion or anxiety, Castiel himself is barely erect, and the elf quickly moves press himself to _Imlad_ in an effort to communicate this. “There’s no need to apologize,” he murmurs, moving to press affection in a line down his One’s throat and chest. Dean grips Cas’s shoulders tightly in response. He bites his lip. 

“Y-Yeah? _Mmm_.

“Yes.” A nip to Dean’s sternum before the elf looks up. “I… I’m not really in the mood to do anything other than kiss you tonight. If that’s okay.”

If _Imlad_ ’s cheeks glow in the dim, his smile is a source of light in itself. “I like kissing.”

“Good. That’s—yes,” Castiel continues, awkward. “But, um, I feel I should inform you that when we do make love, it will be fantastic.”

“Will it?” Dean teases.

“Unlike anything you’ve ever felt.” Reaching forward to trace Dean’s jaw, Cas hums in anticipation. “I will unravel you until your very essence is bared, _mel hûn;_ until every piece of you is laid out before me to shower with affection. I’ll make you feel like you’re flying.”

Dean swallows thickly, mirth gone from his face as his lips part in a heavy breath. “You’ll take care of me?” he asks, wriggling until their bodies are as close as humanely possible.

“Wholly and completely,” Cas affirms, breathless at their proximity. The elf can feel his heart beating so hard in his chest, he’s fearful he’ll crack a rib. “So thoroughly you’ll forget your own name.”

“And d’you know what I’ll do, _Bainon_?”

Castiel shakes his head.

“I,” Dean murmurs, cheeks and chest stained red as he traces the point of his elf’s ear. “I’ll open myself to you so entirely, that you won’t know where you end and I begin. I’ll be so good to you, your body will sing under my hands, Castiel, and you’ll never again want for pleasure.”

Cas feels warmth blaze through his limbs, pooling in his belly and lighting a fire around his heart. His mouth is suddenly so dry he can’t swallow, and the elf licks his lips in an attempt to remedy that. Dean watches the movement with wide eyes. “I practiced when I was gone,” the human admits softly, hesitantly. “Writing dumb love letters; I probably wrote a thousand of them in my head so I could tell you when I came back.”

“Tell me how much you want to make love to me?” Castiel asks. Though his smile is teasing, his voice betrays deeper emotion.

“Yeah,” _Imlad_ mumbles. “But also just, um, how beautiful you are, and stuff. I mean, you always have these _words_ to tell me how awesome you think I am and I just… want to be able to do the same. So I practiced.”

Castiel is so deeply touched he is unable to stop himself from throwing himself at his One, kissing him senseless. They part with swollen pink lips, and the elf buries his face in Dean’s chest. “You are sweetness personified, _mel hûn._ ”

Dean clears his throat. “Yeah, well. Get up here.”

The moment Cas lifts his head, he’s caught in yet another kiss.

 

~ * ~

 

“Mmm, we should wash our teeth.”

“One night won’t hurt us.”

“We’ll regret it in the morning.”

“I _seriously_ doubt gross morning breath is gonna stop me from kissing you.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“You love it.”

A beat. A breath.

“Yes.”

 

~ * ~

 

“Don’t let me sleep, ‘kay?” They’re so close their noses brush, tangled in sheets and covers and sharing the same pillow. “Promise you won’t let me close my eyes.”

“Dean, you have to rest.”

“I’ll rest tomorrow,” _Imlad_ slurs. He hums when Cas pushes a hand through his hair. “When you leave to court some handsome, high-powered elf. But I don’t wanna miss this.”

As much as Castiel wants to insist, the elf bites his tongue, nodding. “Okay,” he whispers. “I promise.”

Still, by the time the moon is past its peak, both have been lost to the land of dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
>  _Imladris _: Rivendell__  
>  _Imlad_ : Dean  
>  _Esseru_ : Sam  
>  _Melethron_ : Lifepartner/Bondmate (male)  
>  _Edhellen_ : Elf-kind  
>  _Bainon_ : Beautiful  
>  _Mel hûn_ : My heart  
>  _Hir vuin_ : My lord  
>  _Na lû e-govaned vîn_ : Until next we meet  
>  _Guren níniatha n'i lû n'i a-govenitham_ : My heart shall weep until I see you again


	15. Melinyel, Castiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they get it wrong before they get it right, and learn a thing or two in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm back! I'm so sorry for the long wait. If you've stuck with me this long, I cannot express my appreciation for your patience, and if you're just joining us, welcome! Either way, I hope you enjoy this chapter :) As always, comments and kudos are always appreciated, and you can find me on [tumblr](http://thursdayschild.co.vu/). As always, glossary is at the end and hover from translations!

“Of course I support abolishing trade with the dwarves. Our people were great metal-workers once upon a time, why can we not be again?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Michael smiles. “And speaking of greatness, I’m to understand you’re a decorated warrior in _Lothlórien_.” Cas almost snorts. Perhaps His Lordship should court Nephtiel-the-decorated- _Lothlórien_ -war-hero himself; surely they have more in common. 

“Yes, well,” Nephtiel replies gallantly. “I’ve always vowed to protect my own, no matter the cost.” This time, Castiel does scoff, the sound turning into an exaggerated cough as the other two elves turn towards him. When Nephtiel tries to catch his eye, Cas keeps his dispassionate gaze firmly on his own plate.

There is a commotion, then, as Anna enters the room with Sam and Dean trailing behind her. The warrior has her head held high, and nods respectfully at Michael. “Brother,” she greets. “Gabriel informed me that _Imlad_ is well enough to sit for supper. I thought it good to bring him out of the infirmary; a change of scenery, if you will." 

His eyes trained on the Winchesters, Nephtiel appears to be inhabiting the space between confusion and disgust. Michael is slowly turning red.

"Ser," Cas speaks to his suitor for the first time during the evening. "May I present my sister Anael, High Warrior of _Imladris_ , as well as the brothers Winchester: Dean and Sam." 

Nephtiel clearly has to keep himself from sneering. “Oh?”

With a nod, Castiel stands to help his family be seated. “Sam is a brilliant student, on his way to earning a position as a Healer. He studies under my brother, the High Healer, Gabriel,” he continues. “And Dean is an expert blacksmith, as well as an accomplished warrior. He has been invaluable to the winter patrols His Lordship has put in place as a security measure, but fell ill in the field.” More gently, Cas continues: “He is home now, recovering.”

By this time, Sam has been seated beside Anna who has been seated beside Nephtiel, leaving Dean to sit beside Cas. The elf helps his One into his chair with covert touches before slipping once again into his own seat, unable to stop himself from looking over.

Dean looks well.

It’s been a week since he’s arrived home, and while he’s still weak—made apparent by the fact that he’s currently panting—his colouring has returned to normal and his cough has disappeared. His green eyes are warm and pleased as they stare into Cas’s blue.

Due to the fact that everyone is seated at the smaller round table in Michael’s solar, it’s easy for Dean to reach under the table and thread his fingers through Castiel’s. The elf squeezes their hands, a smile spreading across his lips as his cheeks warm.

“Castiel?”

Cas jumps. “Y-Yes?”

Michael purses his lips. “Nephtiel asked if you would train with him tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow?” Castiel asks faintly, wholly focused on the way Dean’s thumb brushes across his knuckles. He tries to focus, he truly does, but his One is _holding his hand_ during a _meal_ and it’s so lovely and thrilling that he can barely—

Dean kicks him in the shin.

“Tomorrow, yes!” Castiel blurts, mostly out of shock. He clears his throat in an attempt to cover the fact that he was startled, and squeezes _Imlad_ ’s fingers in warning. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean’s mouth lifts in a ghost of a smile.

Nephtiel does not appear to be impressed.

“Tomorrow,” Cas repeats for the third time. “Um, yes, of course. Unfortunately, I have… things I have to do in the library in the morning, but perhaps after midday?”

“Certainly,” Nephtiel smiles. He looks like a snake. “I look forward to it, Castiel. I hear your skill with the bow may even rival my own.” 

Though it appears that Cas looks down at his place in a bashful response to his suitor, the elf’s expression is due to his own boldness: underneath the table, Castiel has slipped off his shoe and his toes have playfully touched Dean’s leg.

Dean, of his part, flushes a gorgeous rose.

“My brother is very talented,” Michael warns kindly.

Cas trails his toes up his _Imlad_ ’s calf.

“Well,” Nephtiel responds. “If he is as talented as he is beautiful, I fear I shall be done for.”

Castiel stares at his food, bottom lip held hostage between his teeth as the tips of his ears flare tomato red. Eyes downcast, the elf holds his breath as Dean traces designs on his palm.

 _Eru,_ Cas wants to kiss him.

He gives a shaky exhale, using his free hand to half-heartedly push vegetables around his plate as the fingers of his other curl up to meet _Imlad_ ’s. The human’s green eyes flick over to their blue counterparts of their own accord.

Nephtiel says something Castiel does not hear.

Dean fully re-entwines their fingers.

Michael clears his throat.

Cas freezes as his One’s cheeks colour, the elf tensing before deliberately turning his body. His movements are slow despite the out-of-control pounding of his heart.

“ _Imlad_ ,” Michael smiles tightly.

Castiel wonders when he will be able to control himself around his Life Partner.

“ _Hîr vuin_ ,” Dean nods, wholly put together barring the colouring of his cheeks.

“ _Imlad_ , I wonder if your time would be better spent abed,” the High Elf says. His brows are furrowed in mock concern. “The flush of your skin does not bode well for a quick recovery.”

Michael’s words hang in the air above the table, his orders clear to all but Nephtiel while the other elf barely controls the upward curl of his lip. “I agree,” he says. “Perhaps you should rest, ser. After all, one cannot serve one’s lord while indisposed.”

Though it takes a moment, Dean nods, clearly gathering his strength before pushing out from the table and up from his chair. “Of course, my lord,” he says, bowing. As Cas feels theirs fingers slide apart, his heart sinks.

“I should like to help _Imlad_ back to his rooms,” he says brazenly, prompting the raised brow of his suitor. Michael, however, merely shakes his head.

“I’m certain his own kin will attend to that. Won’t you, _Esseru_?”

And so Sam escorts his brother away, and Castiel suffers through the rest of the night.

 

~ * ~

 

It’s another moon’s cycle before Dean is well enough to work, at which point he is placed in the smithy. Weakened form his illness and now unused to such strenuous activity, Sam informs Castiel that his brother’s hands are mottled with blisters and burns. The elf is all but torn apart by the fact that he cannot be the one to tend to his Bondmate’s hands. Of course, Cas is not expressly forbidden from seeing _Imlad_ , but he is kept busy enough that such a thing becomes practically impossible.

Until the suitor named Bartholomew.

Bartholomew is light-haired and blue-eyed, and he has an altogether too-charming smile. His body language is controlled and small and it clearly kills him to defer to Castiel… even if such a thing is required in order to 'win his heart'.

No, Bartholomew is a leader. He does not enjoy being forced to play at subservience.

Of course, as soon as Cas discovers this, he begins to act like a simpering fool. The young elf quickly swallows his own pride and stands so close to his suitor as to border on inappropriate, smiling in his direction and manipulating the conversation to make Bartholomew feel all-powerful and in control: “Oh, I’ve heard so much about your victories commanding the army of Mirkwood… would you tell me about them? Please? I _ache_ to hear the triumphs of such an exceptional leader.”

“Most lovely Castiel, of course it would be my honour,” Bartholomew smiles. “Perhaps I shall regale you while we stroll through the gardens. I recall you said that you adore being out-of-doors.”

“Oh, what a fantastic idea!” Cas says. His eyes lower and he looks up through his lashes, lips quirking in a coy half-smile. “Perhaps we might even stroll past the gardens,” he murmurs. “After all, I would hate for you to be interrupted, dear Captain.”

This is how the pair finds themselves making their way to the smithy.

Of course, once it comes into view, Castiel subtly interrupts his suitor to say: “Oh, perhaps we might check on the smith while we’re here. He does wonderful work.”

“As you wish, _bainon er_.”

Seeing Dean as tangible flesh and blood causes Cas’s heart to race. He feels lighter than he has in weeks, a smile begging to steal across his lips as he observes his One, grimy with dirt and sweat, place the delicate finishing touches on a gold cuff. He’s concentrating so deeply that Castiel is almost loathe to interrupt. Almost.

“… _Imlad_?”

Dean’s smile is brighter than the sun.

He turns with the expression reaching all the way until his eyes, the fire of the smithy creating a halo of light around his body as he turns. His eyes are gems and his skin shines with the sweat of his work and Castiel knows it’s unclean but he wants him, filthy and lovely just like this—

“Castiel?”

As soon as Dean hears Bartholomew, his expression dims.

“My lord Castiel,” the smith says formally, bowing his head. He immediately turns back to his work. “How may I be of service?”

“We’ve come to see your work.” _Don’t turn away. Please, he is nothing to me. I wanted to see you and only you_. _This is the only way._ The desperation in his own voice is must be obvious enough, for Dean’s tense shoulders relax some after hearing what Castiel didn't say. Unfortunately, Cas must have been so unsubtle that even Bartholomew understood. The other elf frowns, opening his mouth only to have the other elf speak over him.

“He’s fantastic, is he not?” Cas smiles. He forces his face into an expression of regal serenity. “The detail and soul that goes into his craft…”

“Um, yes. But Castiel—"

“I honestly believe that Dean is the best smith of _Imladris_ ’ recent history,” Castiel continues without shame. “The beauty of his work is exquisite, don’t you think?”

And it truly is. His words give Cas an excuse to step closer to his One and observe him more thoroughly, down to the flush of his cheeks and the gorgeous detailing of the cuff he works on.

“Castiel…” Dean is embarrassed.

Bartholomew attempts to answer Cas’s original query. “Well, yes, but—“

“You sell yourself short, Dean.”

The end result is inevitable: Castiel spends his time slowly coaxing conversation out of a shy and nervous _Imlad_ , while Bartholomew attempts to insert himself between the two. While Dean is jittery in the presence of another high-powered elf—of course he is, the last time he attempted to defy such a figure he returned home on the cusp of death—Cas eventually manages to engage him. Dean tells him of his own wellness, as well as the wellness of his brother and what they’ve both been up to these past weeks. Even with the sweltering heat of the workshop, it’s torture not to touch.

Bartholomew eventually leaves the smithy alone.

Cas takes the opportunity to taste as much of Dean’s flesh as he possibly can.

This becomes somewhat routine: Castiel taking his suitors to visit his One and then directing the conversation in a way that excludes them. It’s rude, yes, but necessary in a way that alleviates some of the elf’s guilt; this whole business would not be necessary if his brother were not such an ass.

So they come, a plethora of new suitors all vying for Castiel’s attentions and affections, all arriving at the swift conclusion that he is very much uninterested in pursuing romance. It’s a veritable miracle that Cas has not heard from Michael in all of this, but then again, there is little and less to incriminate him, here. He merely spends time showing off the work of his friend. If his suitors feel neglected—if they leave in a huff or are disappointed—that’s their own fault for not attempting to become more involved.

Better still, this _exeunt by the suitor_ leaves time for other things.

Wonderful things. Fantastic things. Things that make Cas bite his lip just thinking about them.

Dean’s kisses are as hot as the workshop itself, his now calloused, capable hands easily manhandle Castiel towards the coolest, safest corner. It’s rare that they do anything but trade sloppy, desperate kisses, but there had been one or two momentous occasions where Cas had unrepentantly dropped to his knees. Lit by the forge and shimmering with sweat, his spine taut and fingers tangled into Castiel’s dark hair, Dean had truly been the picture of a deity in those instances. His scent, more intense between his legs than ever, had been dizzying and wonderful, the column of his neck regal as he’d tipped his face back and sighed. His boot heel had dug into Castiel’s shoulder as the elf had finished him off with a hum.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean had mumbled, flushed and smiley after the elf had nuzzled his thigh.

Castiel had grinned and captured the other’s swollen lips in a kiss, working himself to completion. 

He’d practically skipped back to his rooms that day.

Still, not everything is rosy: in the month since Bartholomew, Michael has become increasingly frustrated. While guards have been removed from any and all bedroom doors, the High Elf has begun refusing to host the Winchesters for supper as often as possible. On those nights where their presence is required at table, he has taken to placing the both of them as far from Castiel as possible. Especially Dean.

 _Imlad_ , however, has become bolder.

He asserts himself in conversation with elves of a higher position than his own; he is not meek, and even borders on disrespectful a handful of times. Of course, his rudeness is always in response to others’ attempts to insult him, but the risk inherent in defending himself so abrasively is great—Dean is many wonderful things, but eloquent cannot be applied to him, not when he’s defending himself and his family. This manifests through rebellious affection as well—the human initiates touch in full view of Michael and his fellow Council members… though none have insofar been witnessed by them.

One memorable time, Castiel was left helpless, biting his cheek and holding his breath while Dean fellated him. This would have been fine, had Uriel not been five feet away from the alcove in which they were hiding.

Though Cas worries because of this bold behaviour—mostly, it’s… attractive. Supremely so. That Dean is willing to risk himself to simply touch Castiel is reckless and daft, yes, but also flattering. Not to mention the fact that putting the illicit nature of their relationship on display for anyone to discover is... exciting. 

Similarly exciting is the fact that tonight, Michael will be absent from supper. The High Elf is currently meeting with the Council to discuss the coming planting and agricultural trade agreements needed for the spring and summer months. Castiel, meanwhile, is dining with yet another suitor. He had previously invited his other siblings, as well as Sam and Dean, but Dean had begged off with a kiss and murmur of: “Don’t eat too much, okay? I have a surprise for you.” The rest had refused outright—something about how Cas would leave within minutes of sitting down, anyway.

To be fair, the suitor (apparently named Dinah), is about as interesting as Gabriel’s left toe, and Cas feels he should be applauded for sitting with her for a half hour, let alone an entire meal. He excuses himself with all the regret he can muster, spinning a tale of how he has suddenly been overtaken by illness and subsequently refusing any kindness Dinah attempts to bestow upon him.

“Truly, my lady, I would not wish this feeling upon anybody,” he murmurs, clutching his stomach. “I apologize for my rudeness, but I must retreat to my rooms. I shall meet with you again tomorrow.”

“Of course. But, fair Castiel, I feel I should at least—”

“Tomorrow.”

She gives a hesitant nod, and Cas makes a great show of hobbling out of the room.

“Perhaps you overdid it just a touch, Cassie.”

Cas nearly jumps five feet in the air at Balthazar’s voice, whirling around to face the guard who stands with a smile on his face, eyes staring forward. Castiel feels a grin stretch across his own lips. “Please refrain from calling me that.”

Serenely, the other pats Cas softly on the cheek. “Never.” A beat. “Off to see your dashing young man, I presume?”

“We have a night alone,” Castiel confirms. Stepping back, he gives a smile and tilts his head to the side. “I’ll be seeing you?”

Balthazar gives a half bow. “Undoubtedly.” He winks. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

Cas rolls his eyes and gives a bow of his own. “Goodnight, Balthazar.”

He reaches Dean’s rooms within minutes, knocking on the blessedly guard-less door and entering with a wide grin. “Dean, I—”

And Castiel is speechless.

Dean’s bed has been pushed to one side of the tiny room to make room for a table; a small one, with a nice cloth upon it, as well as plates and sweetwine glasses and _food_. A table for two, with venison and greens and all of Cas’s other favourites.

Dean has even managed to procure _dark chocolate_. 

“S-Surprise?” the human says nervously. He's in the middle of laying down cutlery and quickly finishes, moving to pull out a chair. “If you would do me the, uh—the honour of sharing a meal with me.” His eyes remain low, focused on his own fingers grasping the wooden chair. Quickly, Dean adds: “ _Castiel brand_.”

Confused but nonetheless flushed with pleasure, Cas nods and bows just as formally as he was addressed. “Of course it shall be my honour, _mel hûn_.”

The tension in his One is palpable as the elf sits where he’s bid, and Castiel eyes his human with concern as the other is seated as well. Dean graciously serves their meal… and then proceeds to make awkward, polite conversation while avoiding any and all of Cas’s attempts at touch.

When _Imlad_ moves his hand away from Castiel’s for the fifth time, the elf nervously clears his throat. It’s difficult to speak through the steadily growing ball of anxiety in his chest, but he does, forcing eye contact between them. “Have I done something wrong?” he asks. “Because I haven’t seen you in—days, and now you won’t let me touch you.”

Dean’s eyes widen slightly before he groans, letting his head fall into his hands. For all that the action is steeped in remorse and embarrassment, it only makes Castiel feel marginally better. “No. No, Cas, I was just—I mean, I was trying to—you're surrounded by people who try and impress you every day. I mean, they treat you like royalty and I'm just... I just wanted to do something nice for you, that's all.”

“Dean…” Cas slips off his chair, kneeling before his One in a way that wholly unbefitting one of his standing. His fingertips brush the shell of his _Imlad_ ’s ear, lips curling up encouragingly when the jade colour of the other’s irises becomes visible. “That is so incredibly sweet of you,” he says, earnest. “But you know that you don't need all this fanfare to impress me, don't you?” Dean looks away. His teeth have trapped his bottom lip and there is nothing more the elf wants than to ease his anxiety. “I am wholly impressed with you just as you are, _mel hûn_.” Castiel doesn’t think before sliding onto his lap and applying a soft kiss to his One’s lips. His voice is quiet: "You already have me."

“But what about—”

“What about them?” he echoes. “ _You_ are the one I want, Dean. Not anyone else.” His thumb traces Dean's bottom lip. “They treat me like royalty because I may one day be Lord of Rivendell, but I am no prince or king. And even if I was, I would choose you every time.”

Cheeks stained red, _Imlad_ rolls his eyes in an attempt to brush off the declaration. “Such a charmer, Cas.”

“Only for you.” The words come out much more less teasing than he intended.

They’re close now, noses brushing with how they’ve gravitated toward one another, and Cas gives a shaky inhale moments before Dean initiates a kiss. It feels bigger, somehow—warm and lovely and overwhelming in a way the others have never been. There’s a comfortable buzzing under Castiel’s skin that feels like need and slight impatience.

The more they kiss, the more that buzz turns to an itch.

“Dean,” Cas breathes, fingers tangling into the lighter strands of his One’s hair as the other, humming with the triumph of undoing the back of Castiel's robe, pulls the material down to suck lovebites into the skin of his chest. “Dean.”

The elf tugs at the mass in his hands. Ridiculously, Dean moves to kiss his mouth instead.

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas huffs through a smile, trying to contain his laughter. His expression only grows when it’s echoed back.

“What?” _Imlad_ says innocently. His fingers are pushing down the shoulder of Cas’s robe and pushing the hem up his thigh, his pink lips swollen where they’re still valiantly attempting to apply kisses.

It’s only after Castiel rests his fingertips over _Imlad_ ’s lips that the human stops… though not before pressing affection into every single one of Cas’s digits. The elf is smiling so widely his face hurts by the end of it. He is so full of overwhelming warmth, he rests their foreheads together for lack of any other way to properly express himself. “Bed?” he asks.

Dean shrugs. “Bed. Or…”

 _Imlad_ bucks and Castiel barely bites his lip in time to control his gasp.

“You make a fair point,” the elf admits somewhat shakily. “Or…” It takes every ounce of will power he possesses to lift himself off of Dean’s lap and ignore his One’s reaching hands. Cas can feel  _Imlad_ ’s eyes on him as he takes initiative and begins to disrobe, letting his single layer slide off his body and onto the floor before he kicks off his slippers.

Dean is still for only a moment before he’s tackling Castiel to the bed. “Also a fair point,” he breathes through a kiss. Their hands are desperate in their touching and gripping and Cas grins through the next kiss. “Impatient.”

Dean moves to his neck. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he says, leaning up to nip at a pointed ear. “’Course I’m impatient.”

Castiel, who had been an enthusiastic kissing partner up until that moment, pulls back a little, forcing his One to look at him. With a bashful grin and rosy cheeks, he traces his fingers over _Imlad_ ’s right cheek and the nebula of freckles strewn across there.

“What?” Dean asks.

Castiel kisses away his doubt, shaking his head as his fingers drift down to push up the hem of the other’s robes. “Nothing,” he says, breathless, between their presses of affection, “ _min muin._ ”

Cas’s heart soars at Dean’s pleased little hum to the endearment, the sound giving him courage to be bolder in his movements. It’s not long at all before the human is pulling away to shed the last of his bunched up clothing, falling back into Castiel’s eager arms with a laugh. “Looks like I’m not the only impatient one, here.”

“Yes,” the elf murmurs back, too distracted by the expanse of bared skin to give a proper reply. He feels his stomach drop when their sexes brush, hips tilting instinctually as he moves to make room for something isn’t quite aware he wants. Dean, half-hard and warm, brushes against Cas’s hole.

“Um.”

Castiel can’t move.

The elf is still as stone, Dean shaking above him as he holds position as well. His One’s freckles are drowned in a deep flush, the green of his wide eyes ever darker in the increasing dim and Cas, not for the first time, is curious. This curiosity—this want that has been burrowing itself more deeply inside of him—is the reason Castiel wraps his right leg around _Imlad_ ’s hip, and tugs.

Dean falls back into place. 

The elf bites his lip in time with his human’s gasp, nerves warring with desire. He’s breathing heavily, and long fingers dig into the freckled expanse of Dean’s back when the other puffs his name helplessly. “ _Cas_.”

“I-Is this alright?”

“ _Eru_ , Cas, this is… Yeah—Yes. This is…”

His utter speechlessness is so endearing, Castiel can’t help but kiss him. The elf wraps his arms around his One, humming into the other’s smile as they press together. The tip of Dean’s hard cock slides against Cas’s hole and his breath hitches. _Imlad_ nips his lip through a grin. “So,” he murmurs. “How do you want to…?”

“I, ah, know about as much as you do,” Castiel mumbles back. His legs wrap tightly around Dean as the other begins to move against him. Blue eyes close tightly and Cas’s brows raise with pleasure while Dean presses breathless love into his neck.

“It shouldn’t be too different,” the elf pants. “Maybe oil? Spit might not— _mm_ , might—” 

He holds his breath against another onslaught of feeling, pulling his One close as the other nips at his earlobe. “Yeah. Yeah, good idea.”

Castiel nods against him. “Dean.”

“I’m gonna take such good care of you.”

The moment they separate, Dean’s own nervousness becomes apparent. His fingers tremble as he reaches for the glass vial of moisturizing liquid and wets his palm, clinically applying a small amount to himself before looking at his elf with a bitten lip. “Uh, can I?”

Cas swallows thickly. “Plea—” His voice cracks. He clears his throat. “Please.”

A tentative smile. “You okay?”

Castiel nods in the midst of hooking his arm over Dean’s shoulders, pulling him in for another kiss. His brows furrow, a squeak tumbling from his parted lips as his One delicately thumbs the tight ring of muscle between his legs.

Dean grins. “Good?” he asks as he does it again.

“Mm!” Hips lift of their own accord. “ _Imlad_ — _mel_ _hûn,_ I…”

“You…?”

Castiel gives a frustrated huff as he attempts to move his hips in a way that will press them together and is met with thin air. “No teasing.”

Dean presses his mouth to the juncture of Cas’s neck. “’Kay,” he breathes. A shaky breath. “So, do I…?”

The pair pull back from each other then, green eyes locked with blue. Castiel, despite being so nervous, gives a deceptively comfortable shrug. “Anatomy books say it’s a muscle just like any other.” His voice shakes, and Dean shifts his weight in order to thumb his cheekbone. In response, Cas manages a brittle smile.

“Cas, if you don’t want—”

“I do,” the elf interrupts. He leans in for another kiss. “Truly, I do. Just… go slow.”

Dean’s expression softens. “ _Bainon_ , of course.”

It’s excruciating.

The first press of his One against his hole causes his entire body to tense, and while he does eventually relax enough for Dean to attempt slip inside, the semi-dry stretch is awful. He immediately tenses tenfold, face screwing up and tears springing to his eyes as his fingers dig into Dean’s back painfully. “ _Ah_!”

“Cas?!” _Imlad_ freezes, his own eyes wide with panic.

“Stop stop stop stop _stop_.” 

Dean rapidly pulls out the meager amount he had managed to slip in, and Cas has to bite his lip to prevent a yelp. He whimpers instead, trying and failing to breathe deeply as he’s crushed to his One’s chest. _Imlad_ ’s heartbeat is so loud it drowns out the manic murmuring of his apologies, his voice turning raw and wrecked; “I’m sorry I’m so sorry, Cas. Cas, I’m so sorry. I swear I never meant to hurt you, I’m sorry…”

Is something wrong with them? Castiel takes a deep, shaking breath. Tears condense like crystals on his lashes as he squeezes his eyes shut. He holds Dean tightly, all but burrowing into him.

Eventually, they’ll try again.

 

~ * ~

 

Castiel wakes slowly, coming back to himself in small increments until his eyes, sticky with tear-salt, crack open. “Mmm, De—” But when Cas reaches out, the bed is cold. The elf immediately sits up, chest heaving as his heart beats a panicked tattoo, frantically searching the room. “Dean?”

Cas’s heart squeezes in his chest.

Dean is gone. 

The reaction is instantaneous—his nose burns, tears spring to his eyes, he swallows the lump in his throat. Inhaling shakily, the elf squeezes his eyes shut; unsure of the exact reason his One has left him, he attempts not to panic.

His fingers shake in the wake of his chaotic heartbeat, and Castiel has to tie the laces of his robes three times before they’ve been done properly. He then tears out of the room. There are a hundred—no, a thousand reasons why Dean would have left. Perhaps Dean went to see Sam? Or was called away for some reason? Or—

Outside the library, Cas stops. His backside is twinging and slightly oily, and he feels like he can’t breathe, and all he wants to do is sit down and cry; because even worse than the thought of Michael taking Dean away, even worse than the thought of Dean being exiled, is the thought of him leaving of his own volition… especially over something as insignificant as _sex_. 

He’s trying to calm himself when he hears it: snoring, coming from the library. Cas frowns, and slips into the large room, his heart blooming with perhaps a foolish hope.

Dean. 

His One is drooling atop an anatomy tome. Specifically: _The Complete Elvish Anatomy,_ and has the page turned to the in depth discussion regarding the Elvish digestive system. Castiel lets out a relieved, shaky breath, carefully pushing a hand through lighter hair. Dean barely stirs.

“Dean,” Cas says sweetly. He leans in, relieved beyond belief as he presses a gentle kiss to _Imlad_ ’s head. The man in question sighs at the contact and resettles, absently reaching up to scratch his nose. Castiel feels himself smile. “ _Mel hûn_ , let’s go back to bed.”

“Mmph.”

“Dean.”

Nothing.

“ _Imlad,_ come on.” Cas’s fingertips graze Dean’s cheek and the human’s lips twitch. Castiel narrows his eyes. “I know you’re awake.”

The library is deathly silent for a half a breath before _Imlad_ ’s arm suddenly extends and scoops Castiel to his body. Only when Cas has bumped into the table do green eyes open to slits. “Oh hey, Cas. Fancy seein’ you here.”

Not entirely certain how it happens, Castiel soon finds himself straddling Dean’s lap.

It’s slightly unpleasant due to the fact that these chairs were not meant for such acrobatics, but the fact that they’re kissing outweighs any and all discomfort. Dean’s mouth is plush and wet and lovely, and his hands, warm, rest against his backside. Which feels surprisingly nice, considering the fact that the stubborn tenderness between his legs has intensified due to the way they’re sitting.

With one last nip to Dean’s bottom lip, Cas pulls away and nudges their noses, moving back when his One moves in for another kiss. “You scared me this morning,” he says. “I thought that… maybe something had happened, or.” There’s a traitorous lump in his throat, and Castiel looks away in an attempt to temper it. His hands are sweating and he breathes out, shaky.

“Or?” Dean murmurs. His fingers, calloused and rough as they are, are almost unbearably gentle as they catch on his stubble and guide Cas to face forward.

“It’s silly.”

“Doubt it. ’Sides, even if it is, how many times have I come to you with stupid stuff?”

“That’s ridiculous; nothing you have ever worried about has been—”

“Cas.”

Castiel swallows thickly and brings his own twitching fingers up to the neckline hem of Dean’s shift. His skin is so soft in the absence of the harsher material that it feels almost like silk. “When I woke alone, I was… concerned,” the elf mumbles. “That, um, that you had left—that you’d left me. Forever.”

Dean frowns so deeply Cas longs to kiss away the lines his confusion and upset makes. “But… _I_ hurt _you_ ,” the human says. “If anyone’s gonna be leaving anyone…”

“You couldn’t have known,” Castiel insists, suddenly rife with insistence and confidence and passion. “There is nothing in any of our books that could have helped us; I had no idea, either.”

“But that’s no excuse,” Dean replies. “I should’ve—”

“What more could you have done? Nothing.” Cas holds Dean face between his palms, thumbs grazing freckled cheeks before leaning in. Their mouths meet a sweet kiss. “It was a mistake.” He pauses, considering. “And perhaps even a good thing.”

“How the fuck d’you figure that?”

“Well,” Cas shrugs, hesitantly drawing out the word. “…I don’t think it can’t get any _worse_.”

Dean groans and falls into the juncture of the other’s neck and shoulder, wrapping himself around his elf as if to protect him. “What every lover wants to hear,” he mumbles, sarcastic. “Don’t worry, honey, _nowhere to go but up_.”

Castiel hums, playing with lighter hair. “There’s a pun in there somewhere.”

“ _Cas_ ,” Dean groans.

“So… does this mean you have no interest in trying again?”

“Yeah, right,” Dean scoffs. “You know how amazing you felt?” His smile drops, then, fingers drifting up to stroke the line of his cheekbone. “But that was one of the scariest moments of my life, when I looked down and you were crying like that. The _second_ it started getting _really good_ for me, you—”

“ _Mel hûn_ , I’m okay,” Cas assures gently. “A little tender, but no worse for the wear.” He applies an encouraging kiss to Dean’s mouth. “It will be better next time, I promise.”

“Nowhere to go but up, right?” the human teases.

Cas smiles widely. “Things will be going up, that’s for certain.”

Despite Dean’s over-dramatic groan, Castiel’s One is perhaps grinning just as widely. It makes kissing pleasantly difficult. “I can’t believe I’m letting you have sex with me,” he mumbles against the other’s lips. Thumbs caressing circles into Cas’s hips, the elf’s breath hitches with the meaning hidden underneath the barb.

_I can’t believe I get to have sex with you._

 

~ * ~

 

With the way Michael is currently swamped with meetings upon meetings regarding the upcoming spring trade season, Dean and Cas manage to hole up in Castiel’s bed two nights later.

They’ve been laying together for almost half of an hour, trading leisurely kisses in a way heavily contrasted to their earlier woodenness. Though the awkwardness has not completely dissipated, it’s better, though Cas is hesitant to do any touching below the waist. It seems that Dean is of a similar sentiment, and Castiel gives them both a handful moments more of this warm, safe stagnancy before he’s moving back and pulling at the laces of his robe. Dean watches with a bitten lip as the elf pulls the garment off and drops it off the side of the bed, responding enthusiastically when Cas goes to kiss him again. Emboldened by this response, Castiel thumbs at the other’s laces, meeting no resistance when he begins to pick them apart. As soon as they’re both bare, the elf finds himself pulled on top of his One with the other’s leg thrown over his hip. Cas shivers when _Imlad_ ’s teeth graze his ear: “my turn.”

Everything grinds to a halt.

Castiel pulls back, fingers brushing the freckled dips of Dean’s clavicle as he makes certain to look him in the eye. “Dean, I can—”

“No, I-I wanna try.” But Dean’s voice trembles as his fingers do, and he’s pale and nervous and scared, and when he leans in for a kiss—in a misguided attempt at courage, maybe—Cas feels sick with foreboding. He swallows thickly.

“Are you… volunteering because you assume it’s going to be painful and believe it to be your punishment?”

Silence.

Castiel is going to vomit. He almost hits his One in the face in his haste to get out of bed, slipping out of Dean’s reaching hands the other attempts to grasp at him. “Cas, wait—”

“No,” the elf says. “I-I can’t. I can’t touch you if that’s what you want. That’s not—that’s not what this _is_.”

He’s stumbled onto the floor when Dean grabs hold of his wrist. “ _Cas_.”

Castiel shakes his head. “If you want to try again because you’re impatient to create better memories, then I’ll happily oblige, but if not—I won’t do what you’re asking of me. I can’t.”

They stare at each other for a long while, so long that Cas feels they’ll pass into the next age when Dean clears his throat. “…Can’t it be both?”

“Both,” Castiel echoes, dumbfounded. “So you’re still expecting me to hurt you—”

“I’m trying to protect _you_.”

“Then listen and accept when I tell you I’m fine!”

“Fine!” Dean shoots back. “As long as you do the same!”

“Fine!”

“Good!”

They look away from each other.

“…I just.” Dean licks his lips. “I want to do this, Cas.”

Castiel clenches his jaw, but eventually lets his head fall in a nod. This is about trust. They trust each other. Everything will be fine. “We're going to try something different this time," he says. "And you’ll tell me the second it starts to hurt,” he says.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Okay.”

Dean’s smile breaks across his face like morning light peaking above the mountains, and he reaches out to tug Cas back into bed. They fall into another kiss, this one just as indolent as the last, though edged with a sort of hesitancy _Imlad_ quickly tires of. “C’mon _bainon_ , c’mon,” he breathes, turning sloppy in his kisses as they grind against one another. He unleashes all his affection, moving more desperately with every second until they’re both hard and impatient and Cas is knocking over the oil they’d used last time, cursing and grabbing at the glass vial before liberally coating his hand. Rivulets of shimmery liquid run down his forearm and he gently traces Dean’s entrance with the pad of his thumb.

 _Imlad_ inhales sharply. Castiel pulls back as if burned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” All of Dean’s breath seems to whoosh out with that single word, his lips turning up in a pleased smile. Lazily, he bring his hand up to palm Cas’s face, and brings him down for a kiss. “Feels good,” he mumbles against the other’s mouth. “Relax, _deilon_.”

Castiel nods and tries again.

He’s very slow, coating his fingers yet again before ensuring he coats the outside of Dean’s entrance before attempting to slip a digit inside. His index finger goes with little resistance, though _Imlad’s_ tightness makes him both bite his lip and feel unspeakably anxious.

How is he supposed to fit?

The elf moves his finger around haphazardly, brows furrowed in concentration before he gently pulls out and coats a second. Dean, of his part, looks at the ceiling with a bitten lip, his cheeks bright red at the intrusion.

“Is this okay?” Cas asks.

“Yeah. Just… feels weird. But I don’t hurt.”

With a shaky exhale, Castiel attempts two fingers this time, slow in his insertion when he meets some resistance. He does his best ensuring his One is as Stretched and slick inside as can possibly be, looking up in concern at Dean’s every grunt and still uneasy when his anxiety is waved off. The elf pulls his fingers out and oils them at least twice more during this process, and is about to go add a third digit when _Imlad_ begins to shake. “Dean? Are you—?”

He’s _laughing_.

Cas fingers still buried inside him, Dean is giggling near uncontrollably, an arm thrown over his face to hide his eyes. Castiel, totally and completely bewildered, does nothing but stare. Slowly—ever so slowly—a smile creeps across his lips. “What?” Dean can’t stop laughing. “Dean, what is it?”

“You just—” Another peel of laughter. “You got this look on your face like you’re concentrating so hard but you’ve got your fingers up my actual _ass_ and we’ve been doing this for like twenty minutes, and—” _Imlad_ is once again lost to giggles.

Cas rolls his eyes, but his shoulders shake with the huff of his own laugh as well. Removing his fingers, he crawls up the mattress and leans in for a kiss which Dean gladly meets. “Well then, are you ready?”

An enthusiastic nod.

His own erection flagging from such intense concentration, Castiel gives his cock a few tugs while slicking himself up. The sheets are an oily mess, and as the elf thumbs over Dean’s ribs, he’s certain it won’t be long before they’re both vaguely covered with it. Gaze meeting, Cas gives an encouraging smile that Dean echoes. The human shifts on the bed and presses his palms to Castiel’s waist, and they share one last kiss before Cas guides himself inside.

 _Oh_.

Dean is… exquisitely tight. The elf barely manages to breach him before he’s breathing like he’s run all of _Imladris_ , his mouth falling open in intense pleasure.

“Stop!”

Castiel feels his heart turn to ice. His eyes snap open— _when had they fallen shut?_ And he hates himself the moment he sees Dean’s panicked face. Getting ready to move away, he’s shocked by his One squeezing his hip and shaking his head. “Wait. It’s not… painful, just uncomfortable, but it’s getting better.”

“You tell me when it’s okay to move.”

They stare at each other.

“Perhaps… kissing would be good to pass the time?”

Dean smirks. “Have at me, elf boy.”

Kissing does indeed help. Within about twenty minutes, Cas is fully seated, face buried into Dean’s neck and panting as he attempts to come to grips with reality—his entire world has narrows down to _hottightdivineperfectheat_. “You okay, _b_ _ainon_?”

Castiel nods against his One’s skin; presses lips to his sweat-damp flesh to show his affection in the wake of his speechlessness. “Dean, I—you’re—” He lifts his head with only the presence of mind to catch the other in a sloppy kiss, hands wandering as they press together. They’re joined. One. And it’s so… wonderful and amazing and—and, “ _an ngell nîn_. _Mel hûn_ , _an ngell nîn_ …” 

“Yeah, _min muin_ , fuck me.”

Despite the fact that every fiber of his being is screaming for Cas to drive in hard and fast, the elf forces himself to go slow. His pleasure is so great that he can barely lift his head, let alone string together movement enough to kiss. Hands tangled in the sheets, he rolls his hips again and again and again, his mouth open and eyes squeezed shut as pleasure coils tighter and tighter inside of him on the verge of snapping, and he’s babbling, he knows he is, but there is no filter between his heart and his tongue and Sindarin is spilling against Dean’s skin and Dean is gorgeous and wonderful and this is it this is it _this is_ —

Castiel comes.

Fireworks go off behind his eyes and he falls onto Dean’s chest with a groan. _Imlad_ , still hard against their stomachs, raises a hand to Cas’s hair. “I got you,” he murmurs. “I got you.” Castiel presses his mouth to his One’s skin in a way that he hopes communicates how completely and utterly overwhelmed he is. He’s limp, boneless in the wake of his own pleasure, and barely has the good sense to pull out of his One, let alone consider how that might feel. Dean grimaces, waving off Castiel’s slurred concern with a forced smile. Even when Cas kisses him, clumsily wrapping his oily hand around the other’s plump cock, _Imlad_ ’s smile does not reach his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Castiel’s voice is hushed in the candlelight.

“Yeah, _b_ _ainon_. ’Course.”

In the haze of pleasure-soaked exhaustion, it’s easy to believe him.

 

~ * ~

 

There is something wrong.

It started as the sun was rising, when Cas woke with semen glued to the hair beneath his navel, and shame curdling whatever was left in his stomach; he’d been grossly inattentive last night. Counting the crustiness adorning them both as disgusting but nonetheless a lost cause, the elf set to work on rousing his One from sleep with gentle kisses, more determined to make up for his negligence than anything else.

But something is still wrong.

Dean’s kisses aren’t as enthusiastic—he’s tired, yes, but it’s more than that; a sort of numbness and disinterest that infuses _Imlad_ ’s every movement. It’s more than disappointment. It’s… vacancy. As much as Dean kisses back, these touches pale in comparison to their previous fare. In a fit of panic, Cas attempts to fix the situation by bringing his One to completion, asking after his wellbeing and enjoyment immediately after the fact. 

Dean’s smile does not reach his eyes, but he insists he’s fine. 

It is at this point that Castiel finally forces himself to leap into the breach.

He visits Gabriel.

The elder elf invites him into the infirmary with a friendly smile, the early noon light filtering cheerily into the space. Gabriel is currently working on some remedy or another, and it takes Cas a whole five minutes to work up the courage to speak before anything is uttered between them at all.

Of course, at this point, Gabriel’s expression is one of concern.

Steeling himself, Castiel takes a deep breath. “I need help.” Despite his best efforts, he still sounds nervous. “Privately.”

“Yeah, of course.” Tugging Cas by the sleeve, the elder elf leads him out of the main room of the infirmary, and into a tiny space occupied by a small writing desk, window, shelves and two wooden chairs. Sitting down in one, Gabriel gestures to the other, observing his younger brother like one would an insect in a jar. “What’s the problem?”

Castiel moves as woodenly as the chair he eventually settles on. He clears his throat in an attempt to temper the colour in his cheeks and ears, and looks around, attempting to figure out how and what exactly he wants to say. He's been so concerned about Dean that he didn’t have any sort of plan on how to breech the topic when he arrived. How is he supposed to say: “I have had penetrative sex with the love of my life and in doing so I broke him. How do I fix this?”

…Oh.

Opening his mouth, the elf is about to say just that when Gabriel interrupts with a triumphant yell: “ _You slept with him!_ ”

Cas turns an even darker shade of red. “We’ve been sleeping in the same bed for a while now, Gabriel—”

“Ohh, why you little _whore_!” the other says delightedly. “I didn’t think you had it in you!”

“ _Gabriel_. It’s just—”

“But it’s not. Because if it _was_ , you wouldn’t be sitting with me right now, blushing to _Valinor_ and beyond and making excuses. So what’d you do? Was it bad? Did he not trust you? ‘Cause you know that sex of the fucking variety, that’s _really_ an exercise in—”

“Gabriel!”

Gabriel quiets.

“It’s not—I mean, we just—” Cas takes a frustrated breath. “He didn’t like it.”

The other’s lips turn up in an impish smirk, Gabriel's fingers cracking as he laces and stretches them before placing them behind his head. “Knew it.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Knew _what_? Would you stop talking in riddles; Dean is not okay!”

“Fine, _sheesh_ ,” Gabriel retorts. “But I knew he was gonna be the one getting fucked. I knew it.”

Castiel is beyond mortified. Made reckless by his embarrassment, he petulantly crosses his arms and informs his brother: “Well, it turns out the joke’s on you: he fucked me first, and when that didn’t work, I did him in return.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes, clearly unbothered by the explicit information, and snorts. “Why? Did you forget the _melcêf_ or something?”

 _Melcêf_? Castiel had no idea such a thing even existed.

His confusion must have been plain, because Gabriel’s smirk drops like a dead troll. Cas feels his heart stop in his chest. Have they been forgetting something essential? Did they inadvertently hurt each other by using regular scented oil? _How is he supposed to know all these things if nobody talks about them?_

“Cas, I’m sorry. I just figured you knew, or that you’d come to me before trying anything if you didn’t. Did anything tear?”

Blushing profusely, Castiel shakes his head. He looks everywhere but directly at his brother. “Of course not,” he says, haughty. “We’re not _idiots_. We used scented oil and when it hurt, we, um, we stopped.” 

“Well, that definitely wasn’t a bad move,” Gabriel smirks. “ _Melcêf_ has a thicker texture than regular oil—it’s more like a jam—and it’s water-based, but that’s pretty much the only difference. It’s also a lot easier to wash out.” Tawny brows wriggle suggestively. “Bet cleaning up after was _real_ fun for you guys.” 

“You’re disgusting.”

“Hate to break it to you, Cas, but if you can’t talk about sex, you probably shouldn’t be having it.” Gabriel narrows his eyes. “You’ve barely even looked at me since we started this conversation.”

Castiel grits his teeth and forces his eyes to meet his brother’s, raising a dark brow as if in challenge. “My problem, Gabriel, is that—”

“Wait, the general disaster of your first time isn’t why you’re here?”

“You’re doing it on purpose, now.”

“Doing what?”

“Being deliberately obtuse!”

“Who, me?” the other asks innocently. “Never.” Leaning forward, Gabriel condescendingly pats Castiel’s knee. “Now come on, little brother, tell Gabriel what the problem is.” 

Cas wishes lightening would strike him where he sits; it would be worlds less painful. Still, he sets his shoulders and soldiers on: “I broke him, somehow.”

A frown. “Broke him,” Gabriel repeats.

Castiel nods. He looks to his lap, then, speaking to his own clammy fingers. “Yes,” he admits. “We—ah, we had sex last night a-and—it was fantastic, Gabriel. I’ve never felt—” He cuts himself off when his brother smirks yet again, clearing his throat to get back on topic. “I don’t think Dean felt what I felt. He wasn’t… like I was, after. And he said he was fine, but—”

“You know he was lying through his pearly whites.”

Cas nods. “And he was… morose, this morning.”

“Did you fuck him again?” 

“What? No!” Cas splutters. “I simply—I gave him, ah, manual stimulation. With my hand.”

“Nice.”

Castiel buries his red face in his hands. “Please, stop,” he mumbles. “This is so uncomfortable.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Gabriel grins. “Now, the good news is that your beloved is definitely not broken. The bad news is that he probably didn’t get anything out of you being all up inside him last night.”

Cas’s head snaps up.

“Now, don’t get your undies in a knot,” the other continues. “That’s pretty normal considering you had no idea what you were doing, but…” Leaning over, Gabriel plucks a small blue jar off one of the nearby shelves and offers it. Castiel gingerly wraps his fingers around the glass. “This,” the elder says, “is your best friend. _Melcêf_ is to be applied generously around the asshole and inside the rectum of your sweetheart, and after some stretching blah blah blah, you’re ready to go at it like bunnies. _Now_.” Cas is going to die of embarrassment. “Once you’re making sweet, sweet love, you’re gonna have to reign it in enough to rub two brain cells together. You need to be watching him, 'cause if he looks vaguely uncomfortable, it’s not the best fuck it could be. This is supposed to be about both of you, right? So, make an effort! Sex doesn’t have to be one trick at a time: touch his dick, whisper sweet nothings in his ear—whatever. Actually, before you even get to that part, it’d be a really good idea to get him hot, y’know? Do stuff you know he likes before starting on the thing that is the least fun for him. And when you do get to the least fun part—make it fun! Lick his asshole; it’s sanitary as long as he’s washed, and trust me, he’ll appreciate it.”

Forget dying of embarrassment, Castiel is just going to die. Full stop.

“…You ever touched yourself?”

“ _Gabriel_!”

“ _Castiel_ ,” Gabriel mocks. “Answer the question: have you ever stuck something up your ass and had an orgasm?”

Castiel looks everywhere in the room but at his brother.

“Cas!”

“No, okay?!”

“Great. So you’re gonna take _this_ ,” he motions to the jar, “and stick your fingers up there until you’ve got enough room to feel around. And you’re gonna do that for a while. Trust me, you’ll know when you’ve found it.”

“Found what?” Cas asks stupidly.

Gabriel shrugs. “We don’t have a name for it yet, but I’m calling it an orgasm button.”

Castiel is so mortified, he almost stops _breathing_. His flush is such a dark red, his skin must now appear to be purple.

“So!” Gabriel claps his hands. “Go forth and get to know yourself, little bro.”

 

~ * ~

 

A day after his conversation with Gabriel, Cas finally manages to find time for himself. It’s the first time he’s done it like this—set time aside to give himself pleasure and explore his own physicality—and so makes an effort to seduce himself. It works for the most part, gets him riled and impatient as he coats his hand in the oddly textured substance.

The rest takes a deceptively long time.

It feels like an age has passed before he’s confident enough to truly move his fingers around, erection flagging with every poke and prod. His brow is furrowed and his lip is bit in concentration, a fact that is unfortunate when his fingertips brush a spot that sends lightening through his veins. The pleasure is so intense it borders on the edge of pain, and the elf promptly yelps and then breaks the skin of his lip. 

Sitting there, panting and sweating and wired, Castiel removes his slick fingers and stares, disbelieving.

_Orgasm button, indeed._

 

~ * ~

 

“I need more.” 

Gabriel doesn’t look up from his work. “More…? Clothes? Soap? What?”

“ _More_.” Castiel says emphatically.

At this the other stops dead, and to Cas’s complete despair, begins to smile. “Stop. Gabriel, stop it. Stop—” 

But Gabriel is cackling uncontrollably. “ _You used it all in one sitting! Oh, Eru—_ ”

Pushing him aside, Castiel storms into his brother’s office and takes the correct jar for himself, marching back out with a scowl.

 

~ * ~

 

“Dean! Dean!”

Castiel practically bowls his One over as he enters the smith, vibrating with excitement. His skin is still damp from where he’s briefly washed up, and his backside is sore from the abuse it's endured, but the elf is practically vibrating as he grasps Dean’s biceps.

“Woah.” A frown. “Cas, what happened to your—” 

Castiel brushes _Imlad_ ’s hand from his scabbed over bottom lip. “It doesn’t matter.” He then grasps Dean’s head and pulls him in for a kiss.

“What was that f—”

“I want to see you. Tonight. No, wait! Not tonight, I have to help Hannah with inventory. Tomorrow night. No, wait, I’m with Anna then—Thursday! I want to see you Thursday night.” Cas’s heart is a humming bird in his ribcage, nerves quickly swallowing up his excitement. For all that Dean appears endeared to the elf’s fast-talking urgency, he’s also clearly overwhelmed. Castiel squeezes his shoulder. “We don’t have to—”

“No,” Dean smiles, the thing beautiful and genuine on his face. “I’m free Thursday.” 

Castiel grins.

 

~ * ~

 

Castiel is not ashamed to admit that he has been so distracted, his suitor has begged off. This is, of course, not his fault; he had truly been planning to slip away later and cite indigestion, but can’t claim he’s disappointed in this particular outcome. After all, this gives him a whole three hours to prepare his rooms for Dean.

...And prepared they are. When _Imlad_ enters, he’s greeted to the sight of Castiel looking up from his book, laying back against a myriad of pillows on his bed. There are candles strewn all over the room, the elf himself clad in only a tied over-robe with something lavender-scented burning in a far corner. The doors to his balcony have been opened slightly, and there is a half-empty tray sitting on the table closest to the door.

“Dean,” Cas greets, immediately breathless at the sight of him. His One is freshly showered, thick hair pulled up into a damp bun and wearing a loose shift. Fresh-faced and glowing in the candlelight, he is the very picture of comeliness. “You look lovely,” Castiel murmurs. He is, suddenly, acutely aware of the fact that he hasn’t brushed his hair.

“Thanks,” Dean replies, fidgeting in place. “So do you.” The human looks around for a moment before biting his lip and climbing up on the bed. When he crawls up to sit by Cas near the headboard, the elf feels his heart skip a beat. “Have you eaten?”

“Uh…” The freckles in _Imlad_ ’s cheeks become inundated with pink. “Not really.” 

With a gentle smile, Cas leans in to press a sweet kiss to his One’s plump lips. “I saved you food if you’d like. Or we can sneak down to the kitchen?”

“Cas, you didn’t eat?”

“I did,” the elf assures, getting up to fetch the food in question. “I just didn’t eat… everything. Just in case you hadn’t and wanted some.” Climbing up onto the bed, he deposits the food in front of his _Imlad_ with raised brows. “What do you think?”

Rolling his eyes, Dean shoves playfully at Cas before delicately spearing a boiled carrot and making a show of putting it into his mouth. He chews with a mock frown, swallowing with a grin. “S’okay.” Digging in, _Imlad_ cuts into the still-warm rabbit with the relish of the truly ravenous. “So, what were you reading?”

“Um.” Cas clears his throat. “I’m not sure?”

“Okay…” Dean drags out the affirmation. “Not sure like it was bad, or…?”

“I was distracted.”

“Oh. Somethin’ on your mind?” 

Castiel merely stares at him.

The moment _Imlad_ understands Cas’s meaning, he does a double-take, eyes wide and green. His cheeks flare colour yet again, plush bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he, quite literally, bites back a grin. “Guess you must like me, huh? I mean, if I monopolize your every thought.”

Cas feels himself grinning back. “Guess I must,” he agrees. 

“Hm.” The sound is drawn out and self-satisfied and joyful, and Castiel watches with a steadily climbing heart rate as his One carefully takes a sip of mead and places the entire tray onto the floor. 

“So, how was your day?” Cas asks.

“Good.” Dean scoots forward. He deposits a small, soft kiss on Castiel’s lips and the elf feels his heart stumble into his ribcage. “I made a sword. Spent time with Sam.”

“How is he?” the elf mumbles. He leans in for another kiss and Dean happily obliges. “Did his, um.” Another kiss. “His experimentation with, ah.” Another. “Mm. Lily of the valley.” Another. “Did that go, um—did that go well?” 

“Yeah,” Dean mumbles against Cas’s lips. “Real well.”

“That’s good.”

“Mmm.”

The pretense of talk is thoroughly discarded after that. Castiel lets Dean press him back into the pillows, the other’s body covering him as a calloused hand moves to undo the tie of his thin robe. Of his part, he drapes his arms about his One’s wide shoulders, one of his knees bending as he subconsciously begins to move his hips. Dean sighs and tangles their fingers together, palms flush as he presses their hands into the mattress. He rolls into Cas, garment-covered, and both parties quickly stop their kissing and hand-holding to push up his clothes before resuming at a slightly quicker pace. Castiel is panting by the time his robe has fallen open and Dean, hard and hot, is nudging against his entrance.

“Waitwait. I want—”

“Anything.”

“I want to fuck you.”

Like a snuffed out candle, Dean’s demeanor changes. He shutters his expression, tension a new and hard line in his shoulders before pasting on a smile and nodding. “Uh, yeah, sure.”

“We don’t have to,” Castiel quickly adds. “But I know, now, how to make it good for you, a-and— _Eru_ , Dean, it’s—but we don’t have to. Not if you don’t want.” 

“You… had someone else fuck you?”

Blue eyes widen. “ _Eru, no_ ,” he says emphatically. “No, _never_. I used my fingers on myself.”

“…Okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Dean murmurs, though his tone belies a certain hesitance. “I trust you, Cas.”

Castiel feel his heart soar. “Okay,” he grins through a cheesy kiss. “Okay, so just.”

They clumsily rid themselves of their clothing, Cas pulling at Dean’s hair tie until his lighter locks tumble onto his shoulders as they kiss their way through the entire process. The elf murmurs endearments and promises through the rushed and panted breaths they take, not stopping in his  _I am going to take such good care of you I will make you scream you will have never known a pleasure so great_ , until they’re bare and clutching to each other in an attempt to be closer.

Deftly, Cas reaches out for the jar on his bedside table while scraping his teeth along Dean’s bottom lip, groaning when his One presses even closer in response. He holds the thing in his hand before tearing himself away to open it, biting his lip to stifle his own sound at the whimper Dean makes against the skin of his neck. The human kisses him there until Castiel finally gets the damned lid off the glass, and gladly goes when Cas tips his face back up. “I want to try something.”

Dean’s mouth is deliciously kiss-swollen as he nods.

Castiel sets the jar aside and begins with his One’s neck, sucking at the skin over his pulse point and licking at the divot between his collarbones. He makes real, lasting marks all over Dean’s chest, greedily hoarding every sound his One makes as he pinches and rubs and runs his tongue over the sensitive skin of his nipples. “ _Cas_ …”

Placing a perfunctionary kiss to his sternum, Castiel goes lower.

Lower, until his kissing Dean’s naval. Lower, until he’s worshipping the skin of his belly, made soft with his love of pie and sweetwine. Lower still, down the trail of coarse hair until the flushed head of his cock nudges against Cas’s stubbled chin.

The elf takes him into his mouth as if worshipping _Eru_ himself, sucking and licking and going downdown _down_ until he begins to gag. Dean is gorgeous; flushed with his head thrown back and his body arched and his toes curling against the wide, bare expanse of Castiel’s back. This is not new, but it’s something they both enjoy, so Cas indulges himself for a moment longer—licking a stripe up the nerve underneath, kissing his scrotum, moving up again to suckle at the purplish head.

It’s gorgeously obscene, the way Dean’s cock bounces on Dean’s stomach when he releases it from his mouth, smearing saliva all over his skin. Castiel is almost tempted to take him in his mouth again, but one look at his One tells him Dean is further along than he’d like for him to be at this point.

Pressing a series of kisses from the inside of his knee to his groin, Castiel continues in his venture lower, smirking at Dean’s yelp of surprised pleasure when his stubble scrapes his perineum. Hands immediately tangling in the elf’s dark hair, Cas takes this as a sign to continue and kisses his way down to Dean’s hole.

“Uh, Cas?” _Imlad_ pants. “What’re you— _ohholyfuckingfuck_!”

Looking at the darker, crinkled skin with legitimate interest now, Castiel points his tongue and traces Dean’s rim again, only narrowly avoiding getting crushed by Dean’s thighs. Cas wraps his arms around the fuzzy thickness of them and dives in once more. He’s awash with curious excitement, now, and varies the pressure on the muscle, pressing his face as close as possible in an attempt to suck at the clearly sensitive area.

Hips shifting, _Imlad_ moans, and as a result, Cas’s tongue slips past the tight ring of muscle until he’s inadvertently licked inside.

Dean _wails_.

Loud and thoroughly pleasure-soaked, Castiel feels his heart might fail at the pride he feels when he hears that sound. Emboldened, the elf pulls back slightly only to have his tongue dart forward, licking inside with a vigor that leaves his One unable to speak beyond half-formed vocalizations. Briefly, Cas wonders if his tongue could reach the orgasm button and stretches as far as he possibly can, gyrating the muscle in an attempt to find it. He doesn’t, unfortunately, but Dean doesn’t seem to mind; the human is restless with his own pleasure, groaning and moaning and twitching before he tugs at Castiel insistently.

Dean kisses him. 

It’s sloppy and desperate, and Cas has spit all over his chin and Dean is rutting like an animal in heat, speaking into his elf’s lips and teeth and tongue: “please please Cas ‘m ready so ready for you please sweetheart _please_.” 

Brushing his fingers over Dean’s entrance, Castiel is pleasantly surprised to find his One already relaxed and slightly stretched. Amidst their kissing, he scoops out a small quantity of jam-like _melcêf_ from its jar and presses a finger to the sensitive skin he just worshipped.

Dean yelps.

It’s a bad yelp.

Immediately Cas pulls away, heart racing for an altogether different reason as he stares into green eyes. “What is it?” he demands. “What’s wrong?”

But Dean is utterly nonplussed. “S’cold,” he mumbles absently, hand behind the elf’s neck to guide him in again. When Cas is hesitant, the other shakes his head. “Just wasn’t expecting it. C’mon c’mon don’t stop.”

“Okay.”

Covering his finger again, Castiel traces Dean’s rim and then slips inside, watching his One’s face carefully. Though he doesn’t appear to be hurt, he’s clearly not the most comfortable he’s ever been, so once gain, Cas takes Gabriel’s advice to heart.

Or, at least, he tries to—when the elf attempts to suck Dean’s cock, the human mumbles his discontent and kisses him thoroughly, keeping him in place. “Won’t last.”

“It’s okay—”

“I want to last, Cas.”

“Oh,” the elf breathes. Pressing their lips together again, he pulls back only to nudge their noses. “I promise it’ll get better.”

There is no hesitation this time: “I trust you.”

There are a few grunts of discomfort as Castiel continues to stretch his One open, but these are quickly swallowed with lush kisses and words of encouragement. The elf strokes _Imlad’_ s slowly softening cock in the wake of this lull, frowning in concentration while his other fingers stretch and search for—

“ _Ohhhsweetfucking—_!”

There.

Dean’s eyes are wide as they stare into Cas’s blue, his arms wrapped tightly around his elf as he pants. “ _What_ …?”

Castiel grins. “Just enjoy it, _mel hûn_.” His fingers brush the spot again and _Imlad_ whimpers, pushing into the digits until there’s solid pressure against them. From there, his reaction is immediate: Dean throws his head back in a loud moan, his entire body arching with it as his arms attempt to crush Castiel to his body. “Fuck, CasCasCas…”

With absolute awe, the elf watches his One begin to clumsily fuck himself on his scissoring fingers. 

“Cas, _please_!”

From there, it’s only a matter of slicking up and sliding—slowly—inside.

The pleasure is, once again, blinding.

Cas takes deep breaths, exhaling a shower of kisses on whatever patch of freckled skin he can reach. He’s still wholly overwhelmed, but it isn’t as all-encompassing as last time. Forcing his eyes open, he presses his mouth to _Imlad_ ’s, shaky. With fingers trembling just as finely, he brushes a lock of light brown hair behind the rounded shell of Dean’s ear.

That’s when he notices his One is crying.

Despite the fact that Castiel’s heart seizes up, he forces himself to calmly brush a thumb across his _Imlad_ ’s temple, taking the tear with it. “Am I hurting you? What’s—”

Dean cuts him off with a kiss. “No,” he murmurs, lips turning up in a smile despite the wetness of his eyes. “I just. I think you’re, um…” There’s something in the way Dean speaks that causes Cas’s own vision begin to blur, and the elf leans into his One’s palm when _Imlad_ cups his cheek. He feels altogether too big for his body, almost bursting at the seams with warmth and affection and love for the man in his arms. They’re so _close_. Cas can feel Dean’s heart racing against his own chest, and it’s so wonderfully overwhelming he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Castiel leans down to kiss Dean with a gentleness that shatters their earlier urgency, his feelings mirrored in the softness of Dean’s mouth and the line between his brows. It’s almost painfully sweet. “Me too,” he breathes in a delayed answer, pressing their foreheads together upon pulling away.

Dean doesn’t let him get far; fingers entangled in the hair at his nape, the human softly scritches his scalp, eyes falling to Cas’s kiss-abused lips before moving back up to blue. “This is crazy.”

“Yeah.” A smile as they gravitate towards each other. Cas can feel Dean’s hitched exhale against his own lips. “So,” the human teases, clearly shaken. “You gonna fuck me or what?”

His attempt to move things into lighter territory is unsteady at best, but Castiel dutifully helps it along. As much as he’d love to stay like this forever, the pressure against his cock is going to kill him. “Yes, Dean,” the elf says, clearly articulating each word: “I am going to fuck you.”

Cas likes how Dean’s skin flushes at that, and carefully moves his hips in small, slow, controlled thrusts. The tightness, the pressure, the warmth—all of it is so intense it borders on too much, and the elf has to constantly remind himself to keep pace. He adjusts his angle constantly, attempting and failing to think of unsexy things in an effort to stave off his own pleasure. Every slide and squeeze is like fire, burning through his blood until it reaches his heart and flares like a beacon.

“ _Oh!_ ”

Castiel bears down more aggressively, biting back his own moan to listen to the cry torn from Dean’s throat. His One moves his hips reflexively, chasing the pressure as Cas drives into him again. There’s a moment of awkward, ungainly movement as they both try and move at the same time, Dean reaching out to pull Cas in for a kiss while the other threads their fingers together. They press firmly against the mattress, palms slick with sweat as Castiel puts a hand to Dean’s hip. The other stills. 

Cas drives in _hard_.

He almost whites out then and there, closing his eyes tightly against the onslaught of _hotwettight_ before doing it again and again and again. Their kisses have become these sloppy, disorganized things consisting of more licking and panting than anything else, and there’s a building pressure in Castiel’s gut. Dean’s legs are wrapped around him and his One is squeezing his hand and they’re moving together now, more slowly so Dean can keep up but Cas is going to die if they keep at this pace so he goes faster and faster and he can feel it, he’s almost there, he’s almost—

Castiel wrenches away from Dean’s mouth, ignoring the other’s protests as he sits back and drags his One up with him so they’re once again face-to-face. With Dean literally seated on his cock, he untangles their fingers, one arm wrapped around his _Imlad_ ’s back to keep him steady, with the other flying over the human’s cock in time with his quick thrusts.

Dean doesn’t even bother trying to kiss him anymore.

“ _Oh Eru_ there just like that _fuckfuckfuckfuck_ —”

 _Imlad_  begins to move as well, bearing down on Castiel’s cock. It’s enough for the elf to lose his rhythm and the pair are forced to start again, with Dean babbling nonsense into Cas’s air and pawing at his body. Castiel himself isn’t even certain in which language he’s speaking, all he knows is that his heart is going to bust and his balls are slapping against Dean’s ass and if they keep going like this pleasure will surely wipe them both from existence, “ _Imlad ci muin dae bainon_ _dae ilvanya, a'maelamin—fuck, meleth e-gûr nîn, mel—_ ”

“Cas m’so close so—” 

“ _Polin_ _nîn, melmenya_ —”

“Fuck, Cas—”

 _“Sen_ —”

“ _Castiel_!”

Dean’s entire body tenses, eyes squeezing shut as he spills all over Cas’s still moving hand. His hole flutters against the other’s cock, and Castiel feels a wave of heat crest inside him, swooping low in his belly and taking the rest of him with it. His pubis pressed tightly to Dean’s, Cas throws his arms around his One and comes.

In the wake of their pleasure, all is quiet.

The elf is still a panting mess when his human regains enough motor control to lift a hand and run his fingers through dark hair. The play of clumsy, calloused fingers amidst the strands causes Castiel to sigh against _Imlad_ ’s neck with boneless pleasure. “ _Dean_.”

“You’re speakin’ with an accent,” Dean smiles, beginning to fidget.

Despite the fact that Cas knows his One must not be comfortable—he’s not exactly ready to fall asleep here, either—Castiel’s currently too exhausted to move. Groaning in protest, he holds Dean more tightly as his One moves just right and Cas slips out of him, both parties shivering in discomfort at the unpleasant tight-squelch-loose feeling. “Ugh,” Cas complains, now fully wrapped around his human to keep him in place. “So’re you.”

“No’m not.” The elf can practically hear his grin.

Blue eyes narrowing to near slits, Castiel picks up his head with a grunt, ready to send a playful glare Dean’s way when he freezes halfway there. _Imlad_ is… glowing. Not literally, of course, but there’s a healthy, pretty blush to his skin and his hair is gorgeously askew and his lips are plump and pink and his eyes are so _green_ that Cas just—he feels his lips part in utter awe. And this must show plainly on his face, because though Dean looks just as taken aback, he’s also _shy_ , looking down and biting his lip, and carefully moving to thumb the corner of Castiel’s mouth. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Cas mumbles back, stunned.

 Dean kisses him. Slow and sweet and gorgeous, there is nothing more to this affection than soaking up warmth that already exists—like sun-bathing in the late afternoon. It’s kissing like Castiel has never really experienced before; he's known it less intensely, perhaps, but he’s certainly never been so deliciously exhausted that such a thing feels indulgent. Sighing, he pushes _Imlad_ ’s hair off his shoulders while the other thumbs the divot above Cas’s hip. In a move that makes him curiously delighted, he feels Dean’s finger run through a glob of rapidly cooling semen and rub it into his skin. “Was that sex to your satisfaction?” Castiel asks, still dazed as he pulls away. A goofy smile lazily claims his mouth. “Because that sex was _definitely_ to my satisfaction.”

“You’re such a dork,” Dean laughs; but the more he stares, the more his laugh fades until only the smile remains. “But yeah,” he finally replies. “I’d say I’m absolutely, positively and in no uncertain terms—satisfied.”

Castiel practically vibrates with with joy. “ _Now_ who’s being a dork?” he grins. 

“You love it.”

“Absolutely, positively and in no uncertain terms.”

They gravitate towards each other, mouths meeting sweetly. Dean drapes his arms over Cas’s wide shoulders and the other traces abstract designs on his back. It’s so late there’s silence even from the cracked open balcony door, the only sounds in the room the soft noises from their kisses.

“We should clean up,” Dean mumbles eventually, arching his back so their chests press together.

“Five more minutes.”

Dean grins. “Anyone ever tell you you’re needy after sex?”

“Yes.” Castiel kisses the tip of _Imlad_ ’s nose. “You. Just now.” With all the effort he possesses, the elf untangles himself from his One, ignoring Dean’s confused frown as he shakily crawls out of bed. The floor is freezing against the soles of his feet and he scurries towards the washroom, praying the water is still warm over the embers he’d left in the fireplace. “Hey, wait,” Dean calls out. Through the open door, Cas can see his fingers tangling in the sheets, bottom lip jutting out in a subconscious pout. “What happened to five more minutes?”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re needy after sex?” Cas teases.

Dean flops back against the mattress, stretching out with a yawn. “Then you should hurry back and keep me company.” 

Castiel doesn’t need to be told twice.

He’s delighted to find the water pleasantly warm under its cover, and makes quick work of wetting two small cloths and hurrying back to bed. He leaps onto the mattress with a grin, leaning down to kiss Dean’s smile from his lips. The more time passes, the more his One begins to drift off.

“ _Mel hûn_ ,” Castiel murmurs, thumb brushing his _Imlad_ ’s cheek. “You have to wake up.” 

“Mmhm.”

“Dean.”

“M’wake.”

Biting his lip, the elf places both washcloths on his bedside, grabbing a wooden cup and filling it with water from the jug on the table nearest the door. He only barely manages to wake his One enough to get him to drink half, swallowing what’s left before he helps Dean get settled back against the pillows. There’s a small, easily avoidable wet spot in the middle of the bed closer to its foot, and the jar of _melcêf..._ come to think of it, Cas has no idea where the blue container went. But that’s a worry for later. Now, the elf carefully wipes down his One, covering him with the sheets before he cleans himself. By the time he’s done, his limbs are even heavier than they were when he started, and he’s half convinced he’s going to sleep on his feet. Still, he takes great care to blow out the candles he’d strewn all over the place. (He finds the jar of _melcêf_ : it’s shattered on the other side of the bed, a problem that will be left for when the sun has risen.)

This all results in Castiel climbing into bed already half-asleep, cuddling up to Dean’s back like spoons in a drawer. _Imlad_ immediately turns, presumably wanting to be closer. Of course, the moment Cas relaxes is the moment the elf is suddenly totally and completely awake. Wonderful.

He spends his time looking at Dean’s face, appreciating the way the moonlight makes his freckles look like dark pebbles against his skin. Lightly, Cas traces the bridge of his nose, and Dean scrunches it in response. Castiel bites his lip through a smile. “Dean,” he murmurs. His only answer is a sigh.

Running his fingers through light brown hair, Cas suddenly and inexplicably feels so awash with love he’s certain he’ll drown in it. He swallows at the onslaught, but in the afterglow of their lovemaking, can’t find a good reason to keep himself quiet. After all, what harm can come of speaking if his One is in the land of dreams? Dean will never know. 

It takes a surprisingly long time for him to work up the courage to say even something small, but he’s brushing the pads of his fingers along Dean’s jaw when he murmurs, voice trembling: “You’re the song in my heart, Dean Winchester.” Cas’s heart thuds almost painfully against his ribcage. “ _Melinyel._ ”

Nothing.

It becomes infinitely easier after that.

“I love you to the ends of this Earth,” Castiel confesses in the quiet. “Through this age and the next and until I no longer exist.” The elf takes a deep, shaky breath. “I love you so deeply, I don't know what to do with myself, and that terrifies me. You terrify me, _a'maelamin_ , because though I know you care for me, I am willing to give up everything for you, no matter how shallow or deep your affections run. I would shed my immortality for you in a heartbeat, Dean Winchester; do you understand? You need only ask, and I would gladly sacrifice my place in _Valinor_ ; I could not bear braving the ages of this world without you. Dean, I would slay dragons to gain your favour, and move mountains just to see you smile. I would lay siege to Mordor itself to keep you safe, and that...” He bites his lip, swallowing with a click. “You have the power to destroy me, _melmenya_. In every way. And I don't care.”

“Mmm… Cas?” Castiel feels his heart jump up to his throat as Dean grumbles and frowns, still half-asleep. “You awake?” the human asks, squinty-eyed and adorably confused. 

“A little bit,” Cas whispers.

This seems to offend _Imlad_ , who frowns even more deeply and reaches out to cuddle his elf thoroughly, tangling their legs together and wrapping an arm around his waist and placing a clumsy kiss to his mouth. “Sleep now, ’kay?” he murmurs. 

Castiel is powerless to argue. “Okay.”

“Mm, and Cas?” Dean has one eye open now, noticeably more awake than he’d been previously. “You’re the song in my heart, too.”

Castiel almost chokes on his own breath as panic whooshes out of him, and an odd mix of pure contentment and elation take its place. He doesn’t know what expression his face has worked itself into, but it must not be too bad because Dean, fully awake now, is smiling. “Love you, _bainon._ Sweet sleep.”

The warmth that explodes in Cas’s chest is almost blinding. It’s all he can do to give his One a kiss, leaning back and staring in utter amazement once he’s through. Dean loves him. Dean _loves him._ Dean Winchester, the sweetest, most wonderful man on Earth, is _in love with him_. Dean _loves him back_.

Biting his lip, Castiel reaches out to brush fingertips across his _Imlad_ ’s cheek. “ _Meleth e-gûr nîn_ ,” he whispers. “Say it again?” 

Dean’s eyes flutter open and he grins, turning to press a kiss to the other’s palm.

“ _Melinyel_ , Castiel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
>  _Imladris _: Rivendell__  
>  _Imlad_ : Dean  
>  _Esseru_ : Sam  
>  _Bainon_ : Beautiful  
>  _Mel hûn_ : My heart  
>  _Hir vuin_ : My lord  
>  _Castiel brand_ : Noble Castiel  
>  _Min muin_ : Dear one  
>  _Bainon er_ : Fair One  
>  _Deilon_ : Lovely  
>  _An ngell nîn_ : Please  
>  _Melcêf_ : Love oil  
>  _Imlad ci muin dae bainon _dae ilvanya, a'maelamin—fuck, meleth e-gûr nîn, mel—__ : Dean you’re so beautiful so perfect for me, beloved—fuck, love of my heart, I—  
>  _Polin nîn, melmenya_ : I have you, (my) love  
>  _Sen_ : Let go  
>  _Melinyel_ : I love you  
>  _Melmenya_ : My love  
>  _A'maelamin_ : My beloved  
>  _Meleth e-gûr nîn_ : Love of my heart  
> 


	16. Michael's Victory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. I'm sorry. (As always, glossary is at the bottom. Hover for immediate translation.)

Snuffling, Cas frowns and scrunches his nose, burrowing further into the warmth against his chest. Awareness is playing inconveniently at the edges of his consciousness and the elf groans in an attempt to scare it off—the last thing he wants is to open his eyes.

But there is something tickling his face.

“Murp,” Castiel mumbles in response, whining as he leans back to escape the annoyance. To his chagrin, the touch returns on his cheek and then along his hairline. “Ngh.”

There is a huff of warmth against his mouth, and then a press of something soft and impossibly warm to his jaw.

It’s too early for this.

Still, as long as the tickling doesn’t make a reappearance, Cas thinks he can live with little bouts of warmth pressing to his skin. It’s nice. The elf hums, eyes still shut as he noses towards the source of whatever kind force has thought to bestow its kindness upon him. He’s only vaguely surprised to feel the warmth upon his lips.

 _Oh_.

A kiss. 

Cas barely returns the affection, instead choosing to nuzzle what, come to think of it, feels like Dean. His brows furrow as he forces his hand to skim up what Castiel can now definitely identify as his One’s back and sighs, resolving to cuddle him more thoroughly. He doubts he’s ever been more comfortable.

Cas is barely conscious, lulled by the feeling of Dean’s fingers running through his hair, when the other brushes lips against his pointed ear. “Cas.”

“Mmph.”

“ _Cas_.”

“ _Shhhh_.”

A huff. “I gotta use the privy.”

“So go,” Castiel mumbles, frowning and pulling his One even closer in a manner wholly opposite to the meaning of his words.

“Well, you’re kinda on top a’me, sweetheart.”

Cas yawns into Dean’s neck. “Shame.”

“C’mon, move your butt.”

“’Kay.”

“Cas, for real.”

“Mmm.”

He doesn’t hear anything else after that.

 

~ * ~

 

Castiel’s eyes flutter open when the sun is streaming in through his windows, throwing the light of the sheer curtain in front of his half-opened balcony door. Snuffling and burying his face into his pillow, the elf groans, arms extending to press against the headboard as he stretches like a cat. For the party who didn’t get fucked, his body is surprisingly sore. In a good way—the same as when he spends the day doing drills in the training yard. Sighing, the elf mumbles nonsense to himself before turning towards the source of heat in his bed and squinting at it.

Dean.

Dean is sitting against the headboard, book in one hand and sausage in the other. He’s completely engrossed, frowning at the pages and absently breaking his fast, while Castiel looks on with an increasingly foolish smile.

“Enjoying your meat?”

 _Imlad_ grins down at the novel before his green eyes search out blue. “Wish it was yours.”

Despite the fact that Cas’s face flames, he rolls his eyes, tugging himself closer until he’s flush against his One’s bare leg. Pressing a light kiss to the top of Dean’s thigh, Castiel sighs and rests his head on him. “That was awful.”

“Yeah, maybe. But you came closer so…”

“Mmm.” Castiel’s eyes slip shut. “That’s true.”

They’re quiet for a moment, the only sounds those of their breathing as Dean’s hand moves to casually brush through the other’s dark hair. “So, um…” the human trails off.

One blue eye flicks open.

“…Last night was pretty fun.”

Castiel grins in the wake of his One’s blush, humming as he clumsily pushes himself upright. Pulling Dean’s face closer, the elf presses a slow, soft kiss to his lips. “Pretty fun,” he agrees with an overly casual shrug.

Dean gives a smiley, shaky exhale. “Is it, ah…” Colour rises to his cheeks. “Is it too early to tell you that I love you?”

“That depends,” Cas murmurs. “Is it too early to confess the same?”

“Nah.”

“No?”

“No way.” Dean reaches for him, and Castiel allows himself to be manhandled onto his One’s lap. Straddling his bare hips and just as bare himself, the elf bites his lip at the contact and drapes his arms about the other’s shoulders. _Imlad_ moves in to rest their heads together, noses nudging as they play a game of will-we-or-won’t-we. “I… kinda feel like the happiest man alive,” he says, half laughing.

Cas’s heart beats wildly in response and he smiles, unhindered and lovely. “I think,” he replies, a hand moving down to thumb _Imlad_ ’s nipple. He grins at the other’s sharp intake of breath. “That’s standard for two _melethron_ having just sealed their _Gwedh_.”

“Yeah?” Dean smiles.

“Yes,” Castiel murmurs. He kisses him. 

One kiss becomes two, becomes three, becomes four and five and six and seven, until Dean is rolling them over and tangling in his fingers in thick, dark hair. Cas has one leg wrapped around the other’s thighs, hands firmly gripping his hips.  

“Cas,” Dean mumbles. It’s a half-hearted attempt at real conversation. Castiel nips at his One’s mouth.

“Mm.” 

Dean groans. “Shouldn’t you be gettin’ back? Not that I don’t love this because—oh—I love this, but—” 

Cas smirks as he makes his way down his  _Imlad_ ’s neck and chest. “I told my suitor I was ill last night,” he says against Dean’s ribs, nipping at the skin there. “I’m sure I can be ill a little longer.” 

The other huffs a laugh, biting his lip at the onslaught moving nearer to his inner thighs. “I guess you do look a little pale.” 

“I need a Healer,” Castiel agrees solemnly, looking up from his work only to duck back down in a mess of tangled bedhead. Dean squeaks when he licks a particularly sloppy stripe from the root to the tip of his cock.

“I—oh _Eru_ —I-I could give you a look, maybe? I learnt a—oh—” 

Cas’s head pops up again. His wild, bed-curly hair is mussed every which way and his mouth is swollen and red from kissing. He narrows his eyes in a squint before nodding very seriously. In an equally serious tone of voice, he asks when Dean will be administering the penis. 

 _Imlad_ ’s face flames a very pretty red in the split second before he bursts out laughing. “C’mere,” he mumbles, guiding Castiel into a thorough kiss. 

Castiel, as always, goes. 

 

~ * ~

 

“I’m so sorry, my sister requires my presence.” 

“I must tend the gardens this morning; apologies.” 

“Unfortunately, I’ve caught a cold.” 

“I have to… take a bath. Immediately.” 

Perhaps it’s the high from having sealed their  _Gwedh_ , but Cas finds it very difficult to care about what he tells his suitors when he knows Dean is in the smithy, working away and all alone. Castiel has had the flu, the shakes, he’s been feverish and faint, he’s had to bake bread and clean chamber pots and wash his socks in lieu of going for long walks in the garden or hunting game with strangers. And when he is forced to interact with them, he finds himself shameless: bringing his guests to the smithy and keeping Dean from his own work (who seems just as happy to be distracted as Castiel is to do the distracting in the first place), giving polite, clipped answers… the elf doesn’t realize he’s stopped bring friendly to the people who have traveled from far and wide to meet him until Anna points it out: 

“You know, if you’re aiming for subtle, you’ve missed the mark by a mile.” 

“Ow!” Cas whirls around, sucking on his pricked index finger. Dean’s ripped shirt falls to his knees, prevented from slipping to the ground only by the thread still attached to the elf’s needle. Eyeing his sister with a faint blush, he calms his racing heart and turns back, continuing his work with a huff. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Of course you don’t.” 

“I don’t.” 

“Right.”

She stares meaningfully at the garment between Castiel’s fingers and the other clears his throat, raising a brow in challenge. “I finished Sam’s before his; your point is invalid.” 

“That may very well be, but I doubt you were humming to yourself with a smile on your face while mending _Esseru_ ’s.” 

“Anael, don’t you have someone else you could be interrogating? I’m finishing my chores.” 

Anna raises her hand in a gesture of surrender, setting backwards with a tiny grin. “Just be cautious,  _Aew_ … you know the walls have eyes, here.” 

“Well then, let them look their fill,” Cas says, head tilting up in defiance. “I’m not doing anything wrong.” 

“I know that,” the elder says softly. She steps closer only to sweep a gentle hand across Castiel’s face in a caress he hasn’t felt in years. “But not everybody thinks like you and me.” Pressing a kiss to his forehead, she moves away. “Be careful, Castiel.” 

“I am.” 

“Yes,” Anna agrees. “And you are content, and happy, and in love.” 

“I can’t control that, Anna.” 

“I’m not asking you to. Just be cautious.” 

Eyeing his sister wearily, Castiel nods. “Alright.” 

Their conversation stays with him until bedtime. When, after yet another tedious supper with a person he has no intention of falling in love with, he’s scampered up to Dean’s bed for cheese and wine and good company. Sam is supposed to be joining them later in the evening, but for now it’s just he and Dean, dressed in their bedclothes and cuddling. He’s gorgeous. Splayed out on the white sheets he glows almost golden in the candlelight. They whisper about their days and braid each other’s hair, and when Sam comes into the room he finds them grinning like fools.  

“Ugh. Congratulations, I guess.” 

Cas and Dean almost have twin heart attacks. 

“No no, don’t get up,” Sam continues. A smile undercuts his words. “I mean, I guess it’s pointless to ask if you missed me when you’ve been staring into each other’s eyes this whole time, but I’ve read that this is part of a _Gwedh_ , so.” 

Dean splutters: “We were talking!” 

“Yeah, okay. Nice braids, Dean.” 

“Shut up,”  _Imlad_  blushes.  

Castiel cheeks heat as well as he makes space between he and his One, obsessively smoothing down the bedding between them. “Sam, I’m sorry, we lost track of time—”

“Hey!” Dean’s indignant cry stops Cas’s words on the tip of his tongue, and the human reaches forward to pull the elf into his chest. “I barely get to be with you as it is; he can handle a little cuddling.” Clearly still embarrassed (if the flush of his face is anything to go by), Dean raises his head with a raised brow. “Right?”

Sam’s lip twitches. “…Right.”

It’s quiet after that, both brothers staring at each other until Castiel coughs to break the silence. “Um, will you still join us?” he asks. “There’s wine and cheese left.” 

Sam finally lets himself smile. “Yeah. But as happy as I am for you guys, I’m not getting under the covers.” He looks at the space where Dean and Cas are a lump under the duvet before reaching for an apple. “Scoot! Lousy bed hogs, you’re right in the middle!” 

And that’s that. 

 

~ * ~

 

It seems that either Michael has finally concluded that the suitors are useless… or he’s exhausted every single eligible bachelor and bachelorette on Earth.  

In any event, Castiel is grateful. 

He’s put to work, instead.  

He’s given the command of a full garrison and is told to get them into fighting shape. For what, Castiel has no idea, but considering the fact that his is the only one seriously training, Cas figures Michael’s motivations are less about war and more about busy work. Moreover, the goal seems to be to work Castiel to exhaustion in order to prevent any late night wandering.  

This works in Cas’s favour, mostly because he is not nearly as tired as he pretends to be once the day has expired. For three turns of the moon, he manages to feign exhaustion and meet up with his One in secret. Unfortunately, the late nights and early mornings turn to legitimate fatigue, and soon, the elf finds himself flat on his back, beaten by a novice warrior who really has no business besting him.

“I’m cutting you off from late night visits for the foreseeable future,” Dean tells him later on, frowning at the bruises and scratches mottling Cas’s body. The human purses his lips, carefully scooping another glob of healing paste onto his fingers before carefully working it into the other’s sore muscles. Castiel groans in appreciation.

“I’m fine, Dean.”

“You’re exhausted, is what you are. Thank _Eru_ Michael thinks you’re too zonked to need guards, because there is no way in this world or the next you’d be able to get up early enough to sneak back to your own bed, let alone scale the fort.”

“You exaggerate,” Cas yawns, closing his eyes. “I’m an elf of _Imladris_ and one of its heirs. I could scale ten thousand forts right now. ”

“Mmhmm.”

“I could,” Castiel assures him.

“I believe you,” Dean says, in a tone of voice that quite clearly means he doesn’t. His fingers dig into Cas’s shoulders and the elf decides to let that particular comment lie—the secret to a healthy, happy Bondmate, after all, is choosing your battles. “ _But_ ,” _Imlad_ continues, “I’d be willing to part with you certain evenings if it’d mean you getting a good night’s sleep.”

Cas grunts his agreement, though in truth, he’s already knee-deep in dreamland. Eyes closed, he half answers: “C’n only sleep well when y’r b’side me.” Dean’s hand still against his back and a warm, wet mouth presses a kiss to the notch of his spine. Fingers slide up and down his back and the elf feels his muscles turn to jelly. “ _Eru_ , I love you,” he thinks he hears Dean whisper.

Can’t be sure, though; like the snuffing of a candle: he’s out.

 

~ * ~

 

Castiel has promised to meet Dean by the stables in exactly twenty-three minutes, but it only takes nine to get there and he’s already got everything he needs—it’s his One’s turn to bring the food and Cas already has the wine hidden away in his own satchel at the foot of the bed. He’s excited; they’ve only been out for a midnight ride one other time, and that with Sam, which, while very enjoyable, is very different to going with Dean alone. The elf can’t wait to spread their blanket atop the cliff and spend the night kissing. There are stars, tonight, too… with any luck, he’ll convince Dean to tell him the human folktale of Erewyn and Talmorun: the warrior siblings responsible for great slash of white across the night sky.

Before the story, however: before sneaking out and riding away and kissing until his lips are swollen and sore—Castiel requires the energy to move. It is because of this need that the elf decides to rest his eyes for a little bit. After all, he has a good fourteen minutes before he has to get going.

 

~ * ~

 

When Castiel was very young, Anna would take him on “field missions”. Less actual mission and more making camp on the fort grounds, the elves would hunt their food and sleep curled together under the sky. It became a tradition to live out of doors like this once a year until he began his own training, during which time his sister cited legitimate field experience as an excuse to take him away for months at a time. Of course, those excursions had been put on hold once Sam and Dean had arrived in Rivendell, but the lightness with which Castiel learned to sleep while out of doors only further developed once he found himself the caretaker of two young human charges.

It is for this precise reason that he hears the intruder.

His candles have burnt so low they’ve extinguished themselves, the room now draped in night black as pitch. The sound from his balcony is merely a whisper of a thing, but Cas’s ear twitches just the same. He rolls over silently, dragging the sheet with him until he manages to land on the floor without a noise. Holding his breath, the elf twists the fabric in his hand until he has something that could possibly resemble a rope to, say, strangle someone with, and begins tiptoeing towards the direction of the noise. He can see a decidedly male-looking outline before the figure crumples to the floor with a hissed curse. It seems he stubbed his toe on one of the tables.

Castiel seizes the opportunity awarded to him.

The elf darts towards the lump in the dark, jumping on its back and grabbing its hair while the body beneath him attempts to buck off his weight. There’s grunting and more cursing and it’s only when his captive has managed to grit out a: “Cas, it’s _me_!” that the lordling freezes in his attempts to strangle his would-be assailant.

“…Dean?”

“Fuckin’ yes, Castiel, get the fuck offa me!”

Castiel frowns. “I’m confused. Why were you attempting to murder me?”

“I wasn’t attempting to murder you, dumbass, I was trying to _save_ you!”

“Save me? But I—”

“Castiel. Darling. Light of my goddamn life. Get your big fat elvish ass off me before I suffocate under here.”

Disgruntled, Cas slides off his One with a huff. “You wouldn’t suffocate.”

“Right, I’d do that other thing that happens when you can’t breathe.” Placing a hand over Cas’s mouth despite the fact that he’s only just opened it to retort—which is impressive, dark as it is—Dean releases a relieved sigh. “Evenin’, honey, good to know you’re okay. Nono, it really wasn’t any trouble, coming to see you. I mean, I was so worried I almost had a heart attack, but what’s a little scare between Bondmates, huh? Oh no, my love, you don’t have to offer to fuck me within an inch of my life to quell my nerves. Just the knowledge that you’re alive is enough.”

Cas rolls his eyes and wrenches himself away. “Are you done?”

“I was worried about you,” Dean says, this time low and dark with his seriousness. “When you didn’t show up, I thought…”

“So you scaled the fort?”

“Yes? Cas, if something had happened to you—”

“You climbed onto the roof, even though you’re terrified of heights, then came all the way over here and climbed down, just to make sure I was alright?”

“Well, when you say it like that it sounds all noble, I was really just—mmph!”

Cas launches himself at his One, falling atop him as they splay across the floor in a tangle of limbs. “ _Eru,_ I am so in love with you,” he manages to declare between kisses. Dean smiles against the onslaught, huffing laughter and trying to keep up as he tangles hands in Castiel’s dark hair. “Great weapon, by the way,” the human says. “What were you gonna do; tuck me in?”

“Shut up,” Cas pants, nipping at the other’s bottom lip. “I was going to strangle you.”

“Sexy.”

Castiel laughs against _Imlad_ ’s mouth, shaking his head fondly as he presses his One more firmly to him. He’s caught between wanting to sample Dean like he’s a fine sweetwine, and desiring him with hard immediacy. In the end, he settles for pulling away so fast he startles the other into a frown.

“Were you… serious about me fucking you within an inch of your life?”

Dean’s brow smoothes and the corner of his mouth quirks up in a way that makes Cas bite his lip. Leaning up to kiss him, the human moves up onto his elbows, nudging their noses. “What do you think?” he breathes, while guiding Cas’s hand between his legs. The elf all but gulps at what he finds there.

“I think… yes?”

“Hm.”

“Hm?” Thoroughly distracted by Dean’s closeness and his apparent decision not to kiss him, Castiel tries to speak in coherent sentences. “W-What does ‘hm’ mean?”

“It _means_ ,” _Imlad_ nips at his ear. “That you should probably take your pants off.”

Despite the floor being an incredibly uncomfortable locale for such a thing, neither Cas nor Dean make a move for the bed, instead deciding by some unspoken agreement that walking the five extra feet would take far too long. They’re pressed so close and tangled so messily together—moving and touching and kissing—that one can’t tell where the other begins, and it’s nothing for one of them to pull Castiel’s packed satchel closer and mindlessly root through for a jar of _melcêf_.

Their prep is messy and rushed, but the amount of times they’ve done this since the first makes for nothing but pleasure when the elf buries himself to the hilt, both parties pulling away from the their kiss to groan and pant. Immediately, Cas makes to thrust his hips with the same impatience as their kisses, but as he moves his hips, Dean puts a hand on the small of his back, guiding the other at a slower pace… which lasts for about ten seconds before the elf becomes impatient yet again, pistoning his hips more quickly only to have Dean slow him for a second time. This happens twice more, with the latter finally rolling them over and circling his hips deep and slow. Dean drapes himself over Castiel, which isn’t the most effective or practical position for him to take, but it allows him to bury his face in Cas’s neck and hair. Though not what he’d been expecting, it’s good— _so good_ —and Castiel holds on tight, giving his One as much of himself as he possibly can.

Cas doesn’t realize his One has wet eyes until he guides him up for a kiss.

“Stop. Dean, stop.”

Though it takes some coaxing, Dean finally slows until he’s merely laying atop his Lifepartner in a sort of quasi-hug. Perhaps it’s the fact that they’re still joined, but Cas feels as though every agonizing breath his One takes can be pulled through _Imlad_ ’s chest and into his own. As a result, he can feel every hitch of the other’s breath—and is torn apart by it.

“Are you okay?” Castiel whispers.

Dean nods.

“Are you overwhelmed?”

Another nod, this time followed by a searing kiss. Dean starts to move again, slow and deep and wonderful, but something feels off. Gathering all his willpower, the elf presses a hand to his One’s flank to stop him, pulling away only to press the softest of kisses to his mouth. “ _Mel hûn_ , what is it?” Another kiss. “Please. Tell me.”

Dean buries his face in his neck, fingers moving to tangle with Castiel’s and squeeze tight. “I thought you were dead,” he breathes. “I thought the only reason you wouldn’t come—wouldn’t send word—was if you were dead.”

Cas’s breath catches painfully in his chest. “Dean—”

“But you’re not dead. You’re here and alive. Not hurt. Not kidnapped… you were _asleep_. I over-reacted.”

Biting his lip, the elf pushes a lock of hair behind his One’s ear. He shakes his head. “I vowed I would be there on pain of death.”

“It’s fine—”

“It’s not.”

Dean leans down, their lips brushing as he swallows audibly. “I-I don’t wanna talk about this anymore. Just—I wanna feel you tomorrow, okay?”

Castiel considers pushing for only a moment before nodding, holding his One to him tightly before flipping them. Dean huffs with discomfort when the other slips out of him with the acrobatics, gripping the other almost to bruising when he thrusts back in.

Cas kisses Dean for all he’s worth, slowly beginning to piston his hips deep while one hand hitches up a freckled leg and the other traces the reddish stubble of his jaw. “I can do that.”

 

~ * ~

 

“Dean? I’m sorry.”

 _Imlad_ presses a kiss to the notch of Castiel’s spine, nuzzling his bare shoulder blade in answer. “That wasn’t—I wasn’t trying to—I was just scared.”

They’ve relocated to the bed, and though Cas is eons more comfortable with his One draped about his back than lying together on the floor, he worries his lip, still distressed. Gently, he brings their twined knuckles up to kiss them. “I know,” he says. “I’m still sorry.”

Rolling his eyes, and completely embarrassed for some reason Castiel cannot understand, Dean pulls away until he can push Castiel onto the mattress and settle in—back against his chest, pulling the elf’s arms around him. “Hold me,” he grumps, tangling their fingers.

Cas’s lips quirk up in a smile: “Every day for the rest of my life.”

They fall asleep shortly after.

 

~ * ~

 

 _“Think of what you’re doing and what the consequences will be—what they already_ are _. Brother, there’s no going back from this.”_

There are voices just out of reach, tickling at the edge of Castiel’s consciousness in such an immaterial way that the words float without being fully understood.

 _“_ Brother. _You_ dare _call yourself family when you refuse to protect our youngest sibling?”_

The thump of something at the edge of the room. Loud.

_“He isn’t some fragile thing in need of shielding!”_

Another thump, this time louder.

_“Let me pass, Gabriel!”_

Still caught in the liminal space between sleep and wakefulness, Castiel and Dean barely have time to wake before the bedroom door is practically slammed open off its hinges. Cas feels his heart leap out his chest and a cold sweat douse him from head to toe as he stumbles to his feet, groggy and squinting and tensed to snapping.

It happens in slow motion.

Michael is yelling so loudly Castiel can barely understand him, the sound deep and loud with all the ire and passion and voices of all the rulers of _Imladris_ before him. He flies across the room like a wraith to its kill, eyes wide and rolling in his head as he spits violence into the air around him.

“Michael, no, please—!”

But no matter how much Castiel yells back _get out GET OUT THIS DOES NO CONCERN YOU_ —

—No matter how valiantly Cas attempts to fight, to cover himself and, coiled like a spring, protect the One he has chosen to spend the rest of eternity with… Michael ignores him. He violently pushes the younger elf to the side as if he were a particularly tenacious and annoying insect, not even sparing Cas a glace as he tumbles from bed and scrapes his ribs on the edge of one of the nearby tables.

Just as discombobulated, Dean never stood a chance.

“No—Get off! Let go of me! Let—!”

Castiel watches, horrified, as his brother grabs hold of his One’s long hair and drags him, naked and struggling, into the middle of the open room. A crowd has amassed by now—people rushing to see the cause of the fracas—but Cas barely sees them. Bruised and bleeding and utterly humiliated, he cannot look away from Dean. The elf is about to launch himself towards them and _destroy_ his awful excuse for a sibling when His Lordship catches his eye. Michael is breathing heavily, at least, having to work to keep Dean in place. Because Dean is struggling. His one is kicking and squirming and grunting and Cas is two steps from them when he hears a knife come unsheathed.

“ENOUGH!”

Michael has the blade to Dean’s throat.

“I have been patient,” the High Elf growls, just as uncaring of the scene he’s causing. He spins toward Cas and drags Dean with him. Castiel can barely stand to listen to his _Imlad_ cry out in pain at the movement. “I have been kind,” Michael continues, impatient. “I have _let_ you run amok with this… _mortal creature_ for years—”

Cas opens his mouth in protest only to be silenced by a glare and the further press of a knife. Red blossoms against Dean’s skin and Castiel is going to kill his own brother right here and right now—

“Do not dare accuse me of separating you,” the High Elf growls. “I took preventative measures to keep exactly this from happening, but I never forbade you to see one another. Do you not think I could have cast Dean out? Do you not think I could have killed him, fragile thing that he is? Of course I could have. Of course I _wanted_ to… but you…” He grits his teeth. “I was too soft on you. I couldn’t fathom such blatant disobedience in the wake of our bond as brothers—”

“You struck me!”

“I AM YOUR ELDER!” A beat. “The sun rises and sets with my will—something you understood before these cretins poisoned your mind! Yet still, I convinced myself: _Castiel would never betray you in such a way, not of his own free will. He’s your brother. He’s an_ elf.” The High Elf’s lip curls in disgust. “Look at yourself.”

A master tactician, Cas swallows his pride and changes strategies, rolling his shoulders and making himself smaller as he approaches slowly, hands up and bottom lip quivering. The knife is still poised at _Imlad_ ’s throat. “I am,” he says gently. “Please, Michael. Brother—”

“No no,” Michael shakes his head. His hands are white and trembling. “ _No_. You’ve made it abundantly clear I am not your _family_ , Castiel. And who have you chosen? A graceless sack of meat that is decaying as we speak! He will _hurt you_ —”

“Michael—”

“Can’t you see? Can’t you see that this is the only way? There will be pain, yes, but you’ll be so much happier for it. One hundred, two hundred years from now you’ll thank me. I swear you will—”

“No, Michael, I—”

“You cannot Bond with him!”

Hair askew and chest heaving, Cas doubts he’s ever seen his brother so distraught. Carefully, Castiel steps forward again, maintaining eye contact as he desperately tries to think of a way out of this situation. Michael’s eyes are brilliantly blue with unshed tears, and for a moment, Cas’s heart aches for his brother. It’s this that pushes him towards gentle words instead of violence; that quells the righteous fire in his chest to a dull, manageable flame. “Brother…” Castiel whispers, gingerly touching the elder’s hand. Swallowing thickly, he watches, helplessly, as understanding dawns on the other’s features.

He then has the horrific pleasure of witnessing Michael’s eyes harden to stone, his jaw no doubt aching from how hard he clenches his teeth together. “You disgrace us,” the elder says. His voice is terrifyingly controlled.

“No—”

“You _disgrace_ us!” Michael explodes. “You go behind my back like a snake! You let yourself become poisoned by this—this…” He turns his glare on Dean and Cas’s heart seizes.

“Michael, please—”

But Michael laughs. It’s a high, ugly sound, steeped in panic and madness. Maniacally, he smiles and shakes his head, reaffirming his grip on Dean’s hair with a sharp tug. Castiel struggles to stay calm; with the way his brother holds his blade, the risk of hurting Dean is too great were he to advance on them. Meanwhile Dean, though perfectly still, glares at Michael furiously.

“This is your fault,” the High Elf tells _Imlad_. “ _You’ve_ taken him from me. _You’ve_ turned him into something he’s not. I warned you. Didn’t I warn you I would do anything for my brother? Didn’t I tell you to stay away? But you—stupid lump of flesh that you are, you didn’t _listen_.”

“Michael!” Cas barks.

Even with his with his hair wrapped around Michael’s fist and with a knife to his flesh, Dean gives the smirk of a seasoned warrior. “Nah, it’s okay, Cas,” he says, his own voice calm and casual. He speaks directly to the one holding him captive. “So what, you’re gonna kill me? _Fuck you_. Fuck your rules, and your history, and your backwards sense of morality. For a guy who is supposedly the wisest of all _Imladris_ , you sure are a witless, vapid, arrogant, son of a—”

“Insolent wretch!” The crack of a palm against skin rings throughout the room, and Castiel is frozen in shock. Michael glares and Dean, who, with a split lip, spits on the floor and smiles back. “Nothing you do to me will make me want him less,” the human says simply. “Because I love him… more than anything, I love him. And he loves me back just the same.”

The ‘snick’ of a blade rings through the air.

 

~ * ~

 

Chest heaving with his breath, Michael finally feels a weight lifted from his chest. His lips twitch up in a smile as he raises his right hand triumphantly. From his open palm, light brown locks drift to the floor, Dean’s braid landing on the marble with a faint ‘thump’. “This is what he is, Castiel!” the High Elf shouts. Violently, he grabs hold of the now shorn, uneven locks atop Dean’s head and bares his throat again. “Do you see?” he demands. “Do you see how fragile? He is not an elf. He is not a wizard. He is not even a _dwarf_! He is a man,” Michael spits, easily nicking the skin of Dean’s neck as if to prove his point. “And not much of one.” He throws the human down at Castiel’s feet, glaring as his younger brother immediately wraps a protective arm around him. “Did _Cas_ tell you?” Michael smirks, stepping back and extending his arms wide. This is his last resort, but one he’s certain, now, will have the desired result. _More than anything, I love him._ Dean Winchester is self-sacrificing to the point of utter stupidity. “Did he tell you what will happen once you’re dead?”

“Michael, _stop_ —”

“Surely you know that Castiel will outlive you,” the High Elf continues conversationally. “And surely you’ve talked _endlessly_ about what your death is going to mean for him—grown and mature as you are.”

“ _Michael_ —”

“There was a reason I wanted you to stay away from my brother, Dean Winchester, and it goes far beyond your egotistical species. What do you think happens to a Bond when one party dies, hmm? Elves have gone _mad_ —”

“Stop talking—”

“Without you, Castiel will be alone and in pain forever, Dean. That is what you’ve given him: a blissful few decades and then _utter misery_.”

Michael can see that his words are taking effect by the way Dean holds himself stiffly, turning to Castiel with a pinched brow. Of course the fool hadn’t considered it. Of course Castiel had been too in love to think about the repercussions of his own feelings. “Dean,” he hears the younger elf say. “There are other options. Other ways. I can become mortal. I planned to become mortal—”

“Wonderful!” Michael cries, motioning to the myriad of people crowding the room. Most of them, he’s pleased to see, wear expressions of mixed disgust and horror. “Yes, Dean, take him away from his family! Whisk him away from his home and into the wilderness! Leave him weak and helpless and unable to enter Valinor—” 

“ _SHUT UP_!” Castiel, livid, leaves his _Imlad_ on the floor to push his brother into the nearest wall with surprising strength. He twists the dagger from Michael’s hand and presses it to his neck in unbridled rage. “Brother or no, if you continue to speak to my One in such a way, I _will_ end you.” Though the word ‘One’ has red creeping at the edges of Michael’s vision, the look on Dean’s face causes the elder elf to put his hands up in defeat.

Finally, after more than a decade of failed attempts, he’s won.

It’s plain to see in the defeated curve of Dean’s shoulders; in the way Castiel falls to his knees at his One’s side, touching his face and pressing fingers to the cuts on his neck. Dean’s skin is ashen and pale, and Castiel’s eyes fill with tears at the sight.

Certainly, for any other elf, this blow would be crushing—and there’s no doubt Castiel will be hurting, now… but Dean is human. Any Bond with him would have to be something half-formed, twisted and empty simply by virtue of him being of a different species. Perhaps Castiel will never Bond with another, but he will never know the heartache of a real estranged Bond, either. He will never know the pain of a cut Bond. And he will not have years of a half-formed blasphemy to mourn once Dean Winchester is six feet underfoot.

 

~ * ~

 

“Cas.” Dean’s voice is gentle, just as his hands when he takes Cas by the wrists and holds him at an arms distance. “I…”

“Don’t,” the elf says. His voice cracks. “Please, don’t. Look.” He twists out of Dean’s grasp to press his human’s palm to his own cheek. “It’s me. I’m here; it’s me, and it’s you. Dean, please, don’t do this. Michael—”

“He’s right.”

“No. No, he’s not. He’s not, Dean.” Cas is desperate now, turning his face to press a kiss to Dean’s palm, using his other hand to grasp at his shoulder— “I have you to thank for the greatest joys in my life. Please. Don’t listen to Michael. I planned to do it, regardless. All along, all along I’ve been more than willing to shed my immortality for you. Since we were children I’ve threatened to do it to keep you safe; going through with it now is nothing to me, beloved. Please, it’s nothing.” His voice cracks on the last, and Dean looks away.

Of all people, Dean looks to Gabriel.

“How does a Bond feel?” he asks, voice carefully blank. “When you finally… finally confess your feelings, is something supposed to change?”

But while Gabriel eyes Dean curiously, it’s Michael who steps in to answer. “Yes!” he replies, more giddy than he has any right to be. “Yes, of course you should. There should be a stark difference between your feelings before and after a Bonding.”

Swallowing thickly, Dean turns back to Cas. “See?” he says, hand slipping from the elf’s cheek. “We’re not even really Bonded.”

“You know that doesn’t mean anything. Biologically we’re different, that doesn’t mean—”

“Cas.”

“Please, don’t,” Castiel begs. “Dean, _please._ ”

“Look, it was fun, okay?” Dean says with a forced casualness. He stands to put more distance between them. “It was fun, a-and that’s it. I mean, giving up your immortality for me? That’s _insane_ , Cas. It's crazy!”

“Dean, this isn't only your decision!”

A scoff. Crossed arms. Castiel jumps to his feet he’s losing him _he’s losing him._ “Of course it's my decision! _I_ have to watch you go from something like you to something like _me_! _I_ have to live knowing that I took your family away from you; that you'll never go to Valinor. That's on _me_ , Cas!”

 _Nonononono._ “And what of what I want?! Do I not get a say in what happens?! Dean, I don’t want to live an eternity if it’s without you—”

“Look, it was never gonna work anyway.”

Castiel can’t breathe. “Liar.”

“It was never gonna work,” Dean says. “I'm a human and you're an elf, we're too different.”

“Stop lying!” Cas demands. “How are we so different? I have all the same parts you do. I feel, I bleed, I eat and shit and love in exactly the same way. How can you say that? How _dare_ you say that?” He can’t breathe or think and his heart has shattered and he can’t see he’s so _angry_ and _hurt_ and he just—he steps forward and _pushes_. Dean stumbles backwards. “Am I to understand that you lied to me?” Cas continues. “That all this time you made me believe you loved me but were really just using me to satisfy your own physical needs?”

“ _What_?”

“Or perhaps you merely decided that I'm not worth the effort. Maybe—”

“What the hell are you talking about?!” And Castiel doesn’t care how confused or angry Dean sounds, because he has no right to be. Not if he lied. Not if he was _pretending_. Not even if it was all real and he ended it because of the High Elf of fucking Rivendell. When Dean shoves back, Cas growls and pushes him away.

“You selfish, thick-headed, self-sacrificing dunce! It was working for me!” Castiel yells. “…All of it. Our differences, our disagreements, everything worked for me. And I don't care if we don't Bond or we have to leave or I become mortal, because the people who will abandon me over a trifle like my immortality will not be worth the effort anyway! Dean, I love you. Since I was an elfling I've loved you. That will never change for me… You're my One. I know you're my One.”

But where Castiel is expecting his _Imlad_ cease his lies at such a declaration, there is only silence. And then, in a small, watery voice: “Cas…”

So that’s it. Years of… of whatever they were to each other and all Dean can say is a three-letter nickname that has now lost all significance. _Imlad_ ’s face is pained, and though Castiel’s first instinct is to soothe the hurt, he grits his teeth and looks away. It’s over. It’s too painful. It feels like the strings holding him together are snapping one-by-one, and Cas would rather lick his wounds alone and in peace and clothed, than drag this out before his people any longer.

“Go.”

Nobody moves.

“If you want to leave, **_go_**!” the elf yells. “But make no mistake: _you_ are walking out, Dean Winchester, not me.” He squeezes his eyes shut when the sound of Dean’s bare feet stumble across the tile. His footsteps echo until they fade to silence. “…Not me.”

And then: “Castiel, I am so proud—”

“Leave.”

Cas’s legs are shaking by the time all the spectators have gone and the door has clicked shut, and he collapses, bare, onto the floor. His eyes are sore. He can’t breathe. Everything hurts.

Everything hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
>  _Imladris _: Rivendell__  
>  _Imlad_ : Dean  
>  _Esseru_ : Sam  
>  _Bainon_ : Beautiful  
>  _Mel hûn_ : My heart  
>  _Melcêf_ : Love oil  
> 


	17. Reunited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they are together again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter, woo hoo! Again, this one is kinda shorter than normal, but I figured that's okay because of the shit storm I left you all with last time. As always, hover for English translation, and there is a glossary at the end
> 
>  
> 
> **Warning: the first half of this chapter is really rough. There are mentions of suicide.**

Castiel just wants to sleep. He’s been in bed for so long he’s not even sure what the day is—day and night blend together into an endless, exhausting loop impossible to differentiate. The thought of food makes him nauseas and drinking makes him feel heavy and sick. He does it, though, because Anna asks him. Because Gabriel sees him staring at nothing and strokes his hair. Because Hannah comes to talk whenever she can spare a moment. Because Balthazar never leaves his door.

Cas’s entire body feels so _heavy_.

He lolls his head to the side and wonders what it would be like to jump off his balcony. Would it hurt? Would he die before hitting the ground? Would he see his parents if he died deliberately like that? Would he see Dean when the human’s time inevitably comes? Sam?

He misses Sam.

The elf licks his dry lips and tries to bite some of the dead skin off, though that only splits the flesh. Tasting his own blood makes him gag, and he turns away from his curtains and buries his face in his pillow, absently scratching at his chest. He itches constantly. It’s a dull, incessant thing that has him scratching at all hours of the day and night, sometimes leaving particularly bad lines in his wake. Some of them bleed, but most don’t.

He doesn’t show them to Gabriel.

Nor does he let on that he sees things, sometimes, creeping at the edges of his vision. Mostly they’re dark, formless objects that whisper unsettling things to him, but sometimes he sees Dean when he knows his One is not there. Besides, this Dean isn’t like his One at all; he has black eyes and a sharp, mean smirk and tells Cas things like _Poor little Castiel, all broken up over being nothing more than a good fuck. You didn’t think I actually loved you, right? I mean, we’re not even the same species! How could I want you over a human woman who could give me children? A broken, in-between piece of shit; what are you, Cas, huh? ’Cause you don’t look like an elf, but you sure as hell ain’t human._

Once, Castiel threw a vase at the specter to get it to stop, but the mirage only laughed. Another time, Cas broke the water glass beside his bed and threatened to kill himself unless it shut up. But Other Dean only laughed and egged him on, and Castiel dropped the shard and hid his bleeding hand, ignoring the other’s disappointed jeering.

He doesn’t really want to die.

 

~ * ~

 

Castiel has a hacking cough that leaves his mouth tasting metallic. Sometimes, it gets so bad that he gags, but anything he spits is usually pink and tastes of bile. There really isn’t anything in him to bring up, and his stomach is sore and bruised from its efforts. It feels like his heart is trying to come up out of his throat.

 

~ * ~

 

Castiel lies in bed alone—no hallucinations, no family—too weak to rise and go to the privy. He feels his stomach cramp and a cold sweat break over his brow; he’s had to relieve himself for most of the day.

When he finally soils himself, tears squeeze out from between his shut lids.

He’s still in the same spot an hour later, coughing and wheezing and praying for some kind of rest, when the itching starts. It’s gotten worse over the last while, but he can barely feel when he breaks the skin, now. As he finishes scratching at his knee, his fingertips come away slightly wet, and the elf decides that enough is enough. He doesn’t have to get better today, but he can’t let himself shit where he sleeps. At the very least, he will make it to the privy. He will clean himself up.

It takes him a quarter of an hour to get there because he has to stop and rest, but eventually the elf crawls into the other room. By the time he does, he has a plan: obviously he’s physically ill, and this can only be fixed by having Dean near him. Cas can sneak out now—is it night? He hopes it’s night—and find Dean and they can work something out. He doesn’t need a declaration of love; things don’t have to be as before, but Castiel can clearly no longer stay here if he wants to survive.

Cas is coughing when he manages to pull himself up to face the mirror, leaning heavily against the washbasin. What he sees is terrifying: there are dark, bruised circles under his eyes, and his face is so gaunt his cheekbones look startlingly sharp; his lips are unnaturally pink compared to the sallowness of his skin, but when Cas swipes at his mouth with the back of a trembling hand, he discovers that spit-diluted-blood is the culprit. His hair is knotted and oily and matted, his fingernails are brittle, and he’s growing a beard. He smells like piss… but the most upsetting thing about all of this are the red lines slashed across his skin. He knows that nothing has been able to heal because he scratches over any scabs, but he didn’t think—holding tight to the counter when a wave of dizziness hits him, Castiel reaches for the washbasin only to discover there’s no water.

Of course there isn’t, Cas hasn’t washed in days.

This is a setback, certainly, but not something wholly unfixable. He simply will need to wash off in a river once he gets going. He’ll need food, too. And to bring a knife so he’ll be able to shave—perhaps he can trim his beard now, to make it easier. Yes, that would be good. He’ll feel better once he looks more like himself.

_Damn right, Cas. After all, normal elves don’t grow beards._

There’s a dagger on the counter that Castiel would normally use for this exact purpose, but his hands are shaking too violently to get a solid grip on it. Still, he needs— _needs_ —to do this now, because if he doesn’t he’s not certain he’ll ever be able to do anything ever again.

_You can’t even hold it, Cas! Just give up. Accept the fact that you’re gonna waste away to nothing. Just—_

Castiel starts to shave.

He gives a small smile of relief as he goes, the thing morbid-looking on his gaunt face, but can’t bring himself to care. Nor does the elf concern himself with the fact that he finishes feeling impossibly frail and looking even worse for the wear. He has cuts on his face from all the nicks. There are patches of short hair in hard-to-shave-places. Other Dean cackles, and Cas reminds himself it’s not real.

_You look like a fuckin’ reject orc._

Cas squeezes his eyes shut.

 _You know, Michael was totally right about you. What are you, Castiel? Do you even deserve those braids you’re wearing? Do you even_ —

Cas cuts off his main braid almost at its root, and Other Dean, finally, quiets.

Castiel looks at himself in the mirror.

He doesn’t have to keep going, but he wants to. He wants to cut all his hair off and tell Michael to go fuck himself. He wants to look at his siblings with short, human-cropped locks and say: this is what I choose, even if my One doesn’t choose me back. It’s who I am. He wants to say: I am ashamed to be an elf. He wants to stop Other Dean from speaking, and stop himself from scratching, and he wants to be in control.

He can be in control of this.

Cas cuts his left ear pretty badly once he gets into a somewhat wobbly rhythm, ignoring the pain of it as he continues with his work. He’s almost done when he feels nausea and lightheadedness creeping at the edges of his consciousness, and this time, he can tell it’s going to take him. Vision spotting until the world disappears completely, Castiel laughs with utter relief. “ _Thank you_.”

Finally, blessed darkness.

 

~ * ~

 

Since Dean left two weeks ago, Gabriel has been trying to be a good brother. His visits are short, and he makes sure to only stop in once every three days. As per Cas’s request, the Healer has told everyone else to stop coming, but managed to maintain that bi-weekly visits are non-negotiable. It’s a lot less than he’d like, but Gabriel is trying to give Castiel his space; no surprise visits, no touching. Besides, the kid seems to be holding up relatively well, all things considered—he stays wrapped under the covers and speaks in clipped sentences, but, weirdly, it’s looking like he and Dean didn’t really Bond.

“Hey, Balthazar. How’s he doing?”

“No noise from inside, my lord. Everything sounds fine.”

Which is good, because Cas threw a vase a week ago and smashed a glass a day after that… but when Gabriel enters this time, it becomes very clear, very quickly, that everything is not fine.

“Get Anna.”

He barely hears Balthazar’s _what_ , too focused on the bed and the smell emanating from it: piss and blood and sweat.

“Get Anna _now_.”

While the other elf takes off down the hall, Gabriel forces himself forward, looking at the bed with increasing panic. There are brown and red lines all over the white bedding, and a damp spot in the middle of the mattress. On the pillows are pink and yellow spit stains. Looking wildly around the room, he tries to figure out where his brother is and how he missed this. It wasn’t like this three days ago. Three days ago, he had been fine he’d—

The privy.

Gabriel’s little brother is unconscious on the privy floor, scratched up and bruised and bleeding. Through his now blurred vision, the Healer drops to his knees, shaking hands pressed to Castiel’s hastily chopped hair. The kid’s wheezing, and his lips are coated with blood. “Fuck,” he breathes; Discomfort in one’s own skin to an extreme degree, no eating or sleeping, getting sick, chest pain—this is estrangement. This isn’t a cut Bond, this isn’t Nothing, this is _fucking estrangement_. “Fuck fuck _fuck_. Cas?! Cas! _Fuck_.”

A cough wracks the young elf’s thin body, and Gabriel eyes prickle with a fresh onslaught of tears. _How did he let this happen?_ “You’re gonna be okay, kiddo,” he trembles, carefully scooping the other up in his arms. He weighs _nothing._ “It’s fine, I got you. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

“Gabriel?! Gabriel, what—” Anna skids into the room, takes one look at them and her face twists into one of pain. “No,” she breathes. “Nonono. _Aew_? _Aew_ , please, wake up. Please.”

Her hands reach for them and Gabriel shakes his head. “Go find Dean.”

“I won’t leave him—”

“Anna. You and I both know his best chance for survival is finding him. _Go_.”

Gritting her teeth, she nods, swiping at her eyes and sprinting off in the direction of the stables.

“Cassie?” Balthazar asks, his voice more small and scared than Gabriel has ever heard it. The Healer swallows thickly. “Go with Anna,” he orders. “And send Hannah and Kali to the infirmary. I’m gonna need help.”

When the guard is out of sight, Gabriel begins walking at a brisk pace. “You’re gonna be fine, Cas,” he assures his brother. “I’ll make sure you’re gonna be fine.”

He prays he isn’t too late.

 

~ * ~

 

Anael and Balthazar have been riding for eight hours when they come upon them—Dean, unconscious, with Sam dragging his heavy body across the moors of Rhudaur. The lanky seventeen year-old can barely breathe through his wracking sobs, and for the first time, Anna is thankful that the Winchesters had not been given horses when they’d left.

The younger Winchester collapses when the two elves reach them, hugging Anael tightly as Balthazar checks Dean over. He looks much the same as Castiel does, though perhaps to a level slightly less intense—he, at least, has fewer scratches.

“He kept seeing things and scratching and coughing and he didn’t want to come back until he j-just _collapsed_ yesterday there was nothing I could do I couldn’t heal him I—” 

“Shhh, he’s going to be fine,” Anna assures. “We’re going to take him back, Sam. He’ll ride with me, and you’ll ride back with Balthazar, alright? My horse is better equipped for long distances." 

Sam nods. “Go.”

 

~ * ~

 

Anna arrives in Rivendell with Dean Winchester in the early morning hours of the next day, and Gabriel is shocked. The Healer quickly pushes the nearest bed flush against his brother’s and deposits Dean inside it, taking his limp hand and putting Castiel’s atop it. He then gets to work washing and disinfecting Dean’s wounds while Kali checks Castiel’s bandages. “When did he pass out?”

“Sam said three days ago, now,” Anna asks, nervous. “How’s Cas?”

“Fine,” Gabriel mutters, frowning at Dean. “Stable. Michael keeps coming by.” He chews his lip. There has never been a fully documented human/elf Bond and so no one knows how such a thing manifests; from their similar reactions, it’s clear that both Dean and Cas felt their estrangement to about the same degree, but… but how is that even possible? Humans are weaker, yes, so they theoretically would fall prey to unconsciousness before an elf under the mental and physical pressure of estrangement, but that would mean that Dean felt the full brunt of the estrangement in the first place. “He’s human,” the Healer breathes. “Even with a Bond, how is he so affected?”

“True love?” Both Gabriel and Anna turn towards Hannah as she enters the room with a tray laden with food. “Broth for the patients, and solids for those well enough to eat them,” she says. “How are they?”

“Together,” Kali replies, turning to her Bondmate and his sister. “If I were you, I would contest His Lordship’s fitness as our Commander. For a High Elf to behave as such—to endanger an heir—is unacceptable. Castiel was on the brink of death, and I doubt his Dean is any better.” Her hard stance softens. “They’re so _young_ —”

“They’ll be fine,” Gabriel assures her.

Everybody nods.

They will.

 

~ * ~

 

Sam and Balthazar arrive an hour later.

Sam crawls into bed beside his brother and does not leave his side.

 

~ * ~

 

Over the next month, Gabriel is a hurricane: making potions and poultices and writing, furiously, in his journal. Halfway through, the patients are moved to Castiel’s room and his much larger bed—and while their proximity makes treatment more difficult (the pair are practically spooning,) it brings colour to their cheeks and unburdens their shoulders.

It’s bright when Castiel opens his eyes; prickly in a way that makes him itch. He’s numb and barely awake, but the innate knowledge that his Bondmate is so close has him elated.

 _Is this Valinor?_ he thinks to himself. Cas’s limbs feel too heavy to move, but he manages to feel for Dean’s hand and clumsily entwines their fingers. _Am I in the Halls of Mandos? If I am, it means we’re both dead, and no death would be as sweet. So I’m dreaming. I’m dreaming and he’s here_.

When Cas opens his eyes, he feels… content. Happy in a steady, uncomplicated way that has him melting into his own bed. Fuzzy. The entire world seems… soft. And warm. Castiel cuddles into his blankets with an intense feeling of _home_ , eyes fluttering open and lips parting as he groans. Or, rather, attempts to groan—his throat is dry and sore and his voice cracks painfully as a mug is immediately raised to his lips. It’s water; hot and with honey, and the world quickly narrows down to the relief in his throat and the face inches from his own. Castiel is vaguely aware that someone—the same owner of the face—is touching him.

“Gabe—”

Gabriel shushes him and shakes his head, pulling a hand through Cas’s darker hair. Still fuzzy around the edges, Castiel frowns when his brother kisses his forehead. “I’m sorry,” the Healer says. “I didn’t see it before. But you’re okay now. Both of you, you’re safe.”

Though the words mean nothing to Castiel, they clearly do to his sibling, and the younger elf mumbles his thanks and before dropping off again.

 

~ * ~

 

Reality filters in and out.

At first it’s only smells: cherry blossoms and lavender and thyme and mint… It smells _crisp_ and _fresh_ and a myriad of other adjectives that remind him of greenery and peace. Cas finds himself burrowing into the comfort of it.

Next is his hearing. Sounds feel garbled and blurred in his ears, like he’s underwater and has fabric inhibiting his hearing all at once. The constant in and out of it is frustrating, and Castiel can see nothing but darkness. He can’t feel a thing. He doesn’t know if he’s dead or not—though he has a vague half-memory featuring his brother and a cup of water that says he isn’t—but if the elf had to guess his current location, Cas would say he’s sitting in the middle of his very own empty chest cavity; that he’d just curled into himself and retreated into his gutted outer shell.

In his delirium, the elf feels a retreating soreness in his skin and muscles. He is aware of the coolness of something smooth and soft, and the heaviness of something warm. Pain zings at his ear and shoulders every so often, accompanied by strange groans and moans that make him uncomfortable. These sounds are always accompanied by comforting little huffs and hums that lull him back into darkness.

Castiel’s ability to move comes all at once.

Whereas it was a slow climb back to consciousness the first time, Cas is now hurled back into reality faster than the speed of a Great Eagle. His sheets are rough as sandpaper against his skin, and there is a weight slung over his body like a fallen tree. It crushes his ribs. He’s hot and itchy and when he can finally see, the world is too bright and too blurry to give him anything but a headache.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Castiel brings his hands to his face like he’s ripping the appendages from where they’re rooted in the Earth. Shuffles and murmurs grow louder and louder and he covers his ears, whimpering. Touching hurts. Everything hurts.

When he opens his eyes again, his vision is less blurred, and Cas can feel moisture collecting on his lashes as he blinks. They feel heavy.

The next thing he sees is Dean.

So close, it’s just the human’s face—flushed a healthy rose and smattered with freckles—but still unmistakably his. Castiel recognizes the pattern of Ursa Minor across the apple of his left cheek. Holding his breath, the elf’s dark brows come together as he gathers enough strength to lift a finger and trace the constellation.

It’s like fire.

Heat and light and too-much-ness blaze from the tip of his finger to the root of his heart, causing him to cry out in pain. He quickly cradles his hand to his chest, adrenaline forcing his legs to work as Castiel launches himself as far away from the bed as possible. He’s gasping and his head is pounding and he makes it exactly ten steps before his limbs seize and his knees crack against the marble floor. His diaphragm spasms and he gasps for air and he’s fully convinced that death is eminent when a hand clasps his forearm and hauls him bodily closer to the bed. Too weak to struggle, Cas lets himself be brought, blue eyes noting the way Dean thrashes and shivers in unconsciousness.

He doesn’t want to go back there. Not with a person who may or may not _even be there_ —who’s to say this isn’t another hallucination? That this isn’t his own mind showing him exactly what he desires most, only to take it away? Who’s to say the being in his bed doesn’t have black eyes?

And if he is real, if he is _here_ , then who’s to say Dean Winchester even wants him? Castiel sniffles when the hand gripping his arm moves up to brush the tears from his face.

“Shhh, you’re okay.”

Gabriel. Of course it’s Gabriel.

“I don’t understand,” Castiel chokes out.

The Healer only smiles: somewhat pitying, wholly grim. “Congratulations,” he says. “You’re Bonded.”

Cas feels his heart stop.

“No,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “No. No, that’s—no.” Weak fingers grab at the other’s sleeves. “He doesn’t want me. I’ve tethered us together and he doesn’t _want_ me.”

“Of course he wants you! What? You think a Bond is this one sided growth? It doesn’t follow _rules_ , Cas, it follows _feelings_. He loves you so much, walking away was gonna kill you both.”

Blind anger suddenly takes up root in Cas’s chest and forces him forward. _Of course_. Elbowing at his brother, the younger elf attempts to make for the door. Castiel had known, obviously, that Dean still loves him—that knowledge has been written upon every cell in his being a hundred times over. Therefore the real culprit here, the one who is truly to blame for this _disaster_ is—“Michael,” Castiel hisses. “That snake, I’ll—”

“Woah there! You’re not going anywhere.”

“He tricked him! He’s poison, he—”

“And Dean ate it all up. You ask me, he was part wanting to protect you, part wanting to protect himself.”

Castiel stops. “Protect himself? From what? Me?”

Gabe smiles sadly. “Love’s scary, Cas. Especially at the beginning. And Bonded love is… overwhelming. You guys need to talk.”

“Yes. Yes, we should. We should—”

“Not now,” Gabe says gently. Carefully, the elder elf turns Castiel’s chin towards the prone form of his One. Distressed sounds tumble from _Imlad_ ’s lips, and despite their current complicated situation, Cas wants nothing more than to go to him. It’s an odd, out-of-body feeling that is simultaneously so anchored inside himself, and so overwhelming, that it is almost impossible to identify as anything other than love. Logically, however, Castiel knows. _Immediately following Estrangement, both parties feel a strong biological pull towards each other’s physical forms to ensure an optimum healing environment._

Cas is suddenly wholly convinced that he doesn’t actually want to go back to bed if Dean is in it. Castiel loves him, yes, and his body craves the closeness of his One, but Dean betrayed him. Dean _left_ him. And Cas is too angry and hurt to want to be anywhere near him.

Still, when Gabriel pushes him towards _Imlad_ with a murmured: “look after your mate, now. He needs you,” Castiel goes. He can’t physically stop himself from going. The minute he’s under the covers, Dean seeks him out: burrowing into his side and sighing when Cas wraps an arm around him. His shivering subsides after a moment or two, and the elf finds himself nuzzling into the back of Dean’s neck—though he dares not kiss him. Not yet. Not until he’s stopped hurting, and he knows for sure.

 

~ * ~

 

Dean finally wakes three days later.

The interim has been difficult; Castiel cannot move three feet beyond the bed before his skin itches and Dean begins to shiver. Personal hygiene, therefore, has fallen by the wayside—bed pans and sponge baths have become part of the daily routine, and Cas has spent the past 48 hours murmuring healing incantations into freckled skin, tracing nonsense patterns in the wake of his mouth until his throat hurts and his eyes fall shut. He is exhausted. He is sore. And he is still a mix of elated and deeply uncomfortable to be in such close proximity to his One.

The elf is sleeping when he feels a soft pressure against his mouth drags him back to the world of the conscious.

It’s Dean.

Dean, who is awake and well and looking at him with his big, green eyes like if he looks away Castiel will disappear. Dean, who runs a disbelieving thumb over Cas’s bottom lip in time with his burgeoning smile, murmuring to himself: “It feels so real.”

He leans in again and the elf doesn’t stop him. Craving physical connection more than prioritizing his own discomfort, Castiel throws himself whole-heartedly into the kiss. Long fingers hesitantly, carefully run through his One’s short, shorn locks before tracing over the rounded shells of his ears and scratching at the base of his skull. When _Imlad_ pulls away, it’s with a cuddle and a sigh. “I’ve never been able to dream your kisses this real,” he breathes.

The reaction is chemical—their proximity, their contact, the intimacy shared through kisses—it all leaves Cas feeling drunk and more relaxed than he has in weeks. “That’s because you’re not dreaming,” Castiel replies, unable to stop himself from leaning in to press their mouths together again.

Dean freezes.

It’s instantaneous—the human wrenches himself away, hissing in time with Cas’s yelp at the sudden distance between them while green eyes wildly look around the room. His gaze, when it finally falls on Castiel, leaves less than half a second later. _Imlad_ looks like he’s about to be sick.

“No,” he swallows, scrambling to the edge of the bed even as his fingers grip tightly to his elf’s bicep. “No, I was trying to protect you. I was—”

He cuts himself off, focused entirely on the healthy, gold undertone of his skin against Cas’s. Despite the fact that logic dictates his emaciated body should have a grey, sickly complexion, he—they _both_ —appear to be completely healthy. Looking up with wide eyes, the human’s lips part when Castiel carefully reaches forward to brush against his, now bearded, jaw. The contact feels both natural and out of place in the strained, tense space they’ve carved out. “…We Bonded,” the elf says quietly. “Before you left, it worked. Gabriel thinks we Bonded even well before our _Melpeth_ exchange and hadn’t realized—Dean?”

Dean looks horrified. “I left you,” he says, clearly nauseated despite the fact that he nuzzles into Cas’s hand. “I left you because it was better and I was scared and I hurt you.”

“No, you didn’t know—”

“I almost _killed_ you.” _Imlad_ immediately looks away, blinking rapidly as his chest begins to move up and down at an alarmingly fast pace. Cas feels his heart squeeze, and quickly takes the other in his arms. This, he’s certain, he does of his own volition. “Shh, you’re okay.” Running fingers through his short hair as they rock back and forth, Castiel feels his _Imlad_ being to relax. “We need to talk,” the elf continues. “Clearly. But not now. Now, we’ll rest, and heal. I’m safe Dean. And you’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

“But I—” 

“Not now.” Settling them into a comfortable horizontal position, Castiel tilts Dean’s chin up and runs a finger under the bruised circles under his eyes. “We’ll be alright,” he breathes. “Now, sleep.”

 

~ * ~

 

The first few days are fine, owing to the fact that neither Dean nor Castiel can manage to stay awake for more than a handful of hours at a time, and often not concurrently. Once both man and elf spend the day fully conscious, however, things become… awkward.

There’s this space between them that didn’t exist prior to this fiasco—an area filled with propriety and shyness in a way that is so foreign to their relationship that Cas has no idea what to make of it. He’s convinced things would get better if he could have just two minutes to himself, but straying even five feet from his One is still too much. The chest cramps and shaking are not worth it.

So, they tiptoe around each other.

They stammer and clear their throats and pretend, for the most part, that nothing is wrong and everything is like it was.

But it isn’t. It is so very _very_ far from how it was, they may as well be in Mordor. Still, this state of interaction seems to be the new status quo.

Until, of course, Gabriel has had enough.

The Healer stands at the foot of the bed, watching Dean and Cas with pursed lips. While the former reads a book on one side of the mattress, the other mends a sock, almost falling off the opposite side of the bed. They’re as far apart as they can get without being too uncomfortable, and the silence between them is thick as molasses.

Gabriel drops the large tome in his hand on the ground. It lands with an almighty _bang!_ and Dean and Cas look up from their work, alarmed.

“Oh good, I got your attention.” The Healer gives a fake smile. “I just wanted to let you guys know that until you clear the air with regards to the whole ‘one leaving the other and experiencing estrangement’ thing, I will not be bringing you food.” At the clear expressions of outrage and indignation on his patients’ faces, the Healer merely holds up a hand. “I’m getting fed up of the drama. Talk. Kiss. Make up. _Eru_ , fuck it out, for all I care. But whatever you do, do it fast. This whole polite-but-sulking thing is not a good look for you two. Okay? Great. Good talk.”

“Gabriel—!”

“You can’t—!”

But Gabriel is already slamming the door shut.

The Healer leaves awkwardness in his wake that cuts through the room like the ice mountains that free float on the Northern Sea.

Neither Dean nor Castiel speak.

The fact that _Imlad_ has refused to even apologize these last few days makes Cas’s blood boil. This is all, _his_ fault. They are stuck in this bed, hard pressed to even look at each other, because of _him_. He’s the one that left. He’s the one who stupidly assumed he knew everything and acted like a self-sacrificing dunce.

The elf stews in his silence, mending his sock more and more viciously until he finally whips around with a growl and glare, gaze pinning the human in place as he grounds out: “You cannot presume to know what I want!”

Dean does not blush and stammer and cower like Castiel expected. No, Dean—stupidly headstrong and the most irritating and obnoxious surviving member of the Winchester clan— _scoffs_ ; as if Castiel’s gall to break their tense silence is disrespectful and unwelcome instead of _wholly justified_.

“I know _exactly_ what you want,” Dean bites. “You want a human for a Lifepartner. Someone you can lie to and manipulate through the Bond—”

“What kind of orcshit is that?! You don’t care—”

“Fuck you, Cas, I care more than you’ll ever know.”

A humourless laugh. “Really. Because _you_ left _me_ —”

“To _protect you_ , you stupid goddamn ass! Always to protect you! ‘Oh look, he’ll go insane if we take this any further, _I should probably leave to protect him in the long run_.’”

“ _Oh look_ ,” Castiel mocks. “He’s telling me he knows what he’s doing, maybe I should _trust him_ instead of making decisions for the both of us without even considering the consequences!”

“You heard what Michael said would happen!”

“Yes! _Michael_! You listened to _Michael_!”

“Well, was he wrong? Besides, you’ve been lying to me this whole time, how the fuck am I supposed to believe a thing you say?!”

“Lying to you?!”

Dean juts his chin up. “Yeah! _Lying to me_! Making me think everything was fine, that we’d ride of into the sunset like some fairy story and live happily even after when, in reality, I’d die, Castiel! I’d die and you’d go crazy and—”

“That wasn’t lying,” Cas insists. “That was something I hadn’t even considered until that day _because I always knew I’d give up my immortality for you_.”

“Which is _insane_!” Dean cries. “Do you not see how that’s insane?! And to keep something like that from me—”

“It’s a non-issue! It’s a non-issue because this is not your decision! You’re not allowed to decide what I do with my own mortality! I love you, and I don’t want to live forever if it’s not with you!”

“Well, I love you too!”

“Good!”

“Good!”

They both huff and turn away from each other.

Though they both remain stubborn and silent for a long time, it’s Dean who breaks first; Castiel is still glaring at the door when he feels the press of hesitant fingers against his knee. “Look,” _Imlad_ murmurs. “I—I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry that I assumed and ran away. I just—”

“No,” Castiel interrupts, shaking his head. “I understand. I…” He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, too. I should have told you. It was just never important. It’s always been something I’ve known on almost a—a cellular level; that I’m different, that I’d walk a different path. I’ve made my peace with it. I suppose I just never considered that my One might disagree.”

“Cas, you know it’s not that,” Dean says. “Look, I just. Love you, okay? And I don’t want to take you away from your home or your family or your life here. I mean, _Eru,_ look at you. Your hair and your skin and your ear. That's probably gonna scar. It’s not—It’s not worth it, okay? _I’m_ not worth it. I ruin everything I touch.”

“I really don’t understand where you get your incredibly low self-esteem, but it certainly isn’t from me.”

“Yeah well, thinking the sun shines outta my ass makes you biased.”

Their smiles are tentative things, but smiles nonetheless.

“You’re worth it, Dean,” Cas murmurs as the expression fades from his face. “And I’m worth it. I don’t think I’ve ever truly wanted to live forever. I don’t wish to see Ages begin and end and begin again. I don’t care for politics, or war. I certainly don’t want to lead Rivendell someday. I simply wish to live a… quiet, happy existence. And whether that’s here or in the Shire or Bree or Gondor, I really couldn’t care less. I’m a simple man with simple needs.”

“Simple,” Dean scoffs. “You’re everything but simple.”

“Perhaps a man, though.”

 _Imlad_ bites his lip. “Yeah… perhaps.” A beat. “You know that you’re it for me though, right? I mean, you know that I’d slay dragons in your name and duel holding your token and build you a house a-and… why’re you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” Cas asks, attempting to curb his grin.

“Like that!” Dean says, unable to stop himself from smiling back. “Like you’re… like you…”

 _Imlad’s_ voice trails off as Castiel clumsily crawls nearer, leaning in slowly before pressing a sweet, soft, deliberate kiss to the plushness of his mouth. Though the contact opens up a yawning and endless pit of yearning in his chest, the elf does not prolong the contact. Instead, he chooses to pull away and smirk when his One makes a discontented noise and attempts to follow. Cas places a hand on his chest, right above his heart. “I know I’m it for you,” he breathes. “And I hope you know that you’re it for me, too.”

Dean’s cheeks flame. “I… I mean, I—yeah. I, um, I do, uh, know. That. I mean, I know that, um. I know…”

Cas nudges their noses together. “What do you know?” he teases.

 _Imlad_ ’s breath comes out in a _whoosh_. “Fuck it.”

Dean surges forward, pinning Castiel to the bed as he kisses him breathless. His hand runs through the elf’s cut, uneven locks and he hums. “Know I said I ruin everything,” he pants in between kisses. “But I like it short like this.”

Cas hands scritch at the base of Dean’s skull as he nods. “Mmm, me too.”

They spend the rest of the day like this: trading lazy kisses and enthusiastic ones and intense ones—rushed kisses, filthy kisses, sweet kisses. As afternoon bleeds into evening, and evening to night, Dean and Cas catch up for lost time. By the time they finally fall asleep, their lips are swollen and sore and they cling to each other tightly.

At seven at night, Gabriel checks in and quietly leaves a tray of food and drink on the nearest table. He knew they’d reconcile. He knew they’d be fine. He also knew they’d get carried away and fall sleep. Eyeing the tray full of snacks and breakfast foods with a smirk, he sneaks out of the room with a smirk. 

He knew they’d forgo their supper anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
>  _Imlad_ : Dean  
>  _Melpeth_ : Love confession; the final step of a Bonding


End file.
